


The Worth Of Things

by Pargoletta



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Food, Hospitals, Jewish Character, Jewish Howard Stark, Letters and Telegrams, Offstage Attempted Sexual Assault, Slow Romance, Spycraft, Theater - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pargoletta/pseuds/Pargoletta
Summary: The Isodyne Energy case may be closed, but Peggy Carter’s work in Los Angeles is not yet finished.  Jack Thompson has been shot, and a dossier containing evidence of war crimes is missing.  In order to find and bring down those responsible, Peggy must call on the help of friends both trustworthy and not.  And of course, Daniel Sousa is at her side, rapidly becoming much more than a friend.
Relationships: Ana Jarvis/Edwin Jarvis, Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 132
Kudos: 99





	1. A Small Footbridge

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to this story! It’s been quite a long time, but I think I’m back in the saddle again.
> 
> Like a lot of people, I really enjoyed the two seasons of Agent Carter that we got, and the cliffhanger it left off on was intriguing. Just recently, I started rewatching the show, and it definitely got some wheels turning in my brain. I wouldn’t necessarily call this a full-fledged attempt at Season Three, but it does try to wrap up a few loose ends that the show left us with.

  1. **A Small Footbridge**



_19 July, 1947_

_Dear Peggy,_

_Thank you ever so much for writing to us about your travels. Los Angeles sounds terribly exotic and glamourous – have you seen anyone we might recognise from the pictures? The Government lifted the travelling ban in June, and I should very much like to come and visit you when you return to New York. Of course, it would be terribly expensive – well over £300 for both Daddy and me – so perhaps I shall start finding small savings around the house now. With Michael gone, you are all we have left, and one does like to see families reunited after a war._

_I hope you are warm and well. Have you seen an orange tree yet? Imagine having one freshly picked instead of saving up coupons only to discover that there are none in the shops!!_

_Love,_

_Mummie xxx_

There was a knock on the door, and Peggy put the letter down. Edwin Jarvis opened the door and poked his head into her guest room. “Chief Sousa is here to see you,” he said. “Shall I show him in?”

“I’ll meet him in the living room.”

Daniel Sousa was waiting for her there. He stood just by the door, leaning heavily on his crutch, his hair disheveled and his linen suit creased, looking as if he had not slept for hours, which Peggy suspected he hadn’t. “Didn’t Jarvis offer you a chair?” Peggy asked, glancing at Howard Stark’s comfortable furniture. “There are more than enough.”

Daniel shook his head. “I said no. If I sat down on anything as soft as this, I might have fallen asleep by the time he went to get you.” A grimace passed over his face as he spoke. Peggy wondered about it, but there were more important things now.

“Sit down before you fall down,” she said, pointing to the couch. Daniel sank down with a grateful sigh. He really did look as though he might fall asleep at any moment.

“Just a few minutes, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Don’t. Have you had any news about Chief Thompson?”

Daniel scrubbed his hand over his face. “They took him to Waverly Memorial Hospital. He was in surgery. The doctor was a Chinese fellow . . . don’t quite remember his name. Chang, maybe? Chong?”

Peggy thought for a moment. “Do you mean Doctor Chung?”

Daniel snapped his fingers. “Chung, yes! That was his name. Chung. Anyway, he said that Thompson was out of surgery, and he’d done the best he could, and it’s just waiting to see if he’ll wake up. He told me to find out if Thompson has any family and kicked me out of the waiting room.”

Peggy couldn’t help a little sigh as some of the tension left her body. Thompson wasn’t a friend, or even someone she particularly liked, but he was a good agent and a good SSR Chief in his own way. He would never be Roger Dooley, but Peggy still thought he had potential. “Well, that’s something,” she said. “Doctor Chung really is quite good. “He saved Ana Jarvis’s life.”

“That was him?” Daniel asked. “Huh. Well. I guess that’s a good sign then. She’s . . .” his voice trailed off, and he glanced at the hallway.

Peggy nodded. “His wife.”

“And he’s just . . . on duty, cool as a cucumber even when I show up at nearly midnight, even after that?”

Peggy couldn’t help but give a little smile. “He is a butler, an officer, and a gentleman.”

Daniel huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “In that order?”

“Of course.”

Daniel’s weary smile broadened just a little, and he sank a bit deeper into the couch cushions. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and then he blinked them open again. “I should be going,” he said, wiggling to try to get into a position from which he could lever himself to his feet.

Peggy planted her hand on his chest, squelching the inner voice that sounded uncomfortably like the headmistress of St-Martin-in-the-Fields High School for Girls telling her that she was being dreadfully forward. After all, she reasoned, she had kissed Daniel first. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said. “There are plenty of guest rooms. And Howard Stark is more than generous with his home.”

“You want me to stay?”

“I certainly don’t want you to drive home,” Peggy shot back. “You’d fall asleep at the wheel, and then . . . well, we wouldn’t want to presume upon Doctor Chung’s skill too often.”

Daniel eyed her with a mixture of desire and wariness. “You’re sure?” he asked. “I mean . . . gossip spreads like wildfire, even out here.”

Peggy smiled. “Daniel. I’m known throughout the SSR as the former _liaison_ of Captain America, I’ve been seen in public at the Dunbar dancing with Jason Wilkes, and I am currently lodging under the roof of Howard Stark, a renowned bachelor playboy. I’m flattered that you think that I have even the tattered shreds of a reputation left to ruin. We’ll find you a guest room for tonight. We can talk in the morning, if you want.”

She stood up and went in search of Jarvis, feeling oddly grateful that a continent and an ocean stood between her and Mummie at that moment.

They did not talk about anything of substance in the morning. The attempt on Agent Thompson’s life took priority over anything else, and both the New York and Los Angeles branches of the SSR were in an uproar. Daniel dispatched a squad of agents to investigate the shooting, and called the New York office long distance to discuss arrangements. Thompson had left an agent named John Flynn in charge of the New York office when he had left for Los Angeles, and now that it seemed that Flynn would be in the Chief’s office longer than originally expected, Daniel had to fill him in on some of the SSR’s lesser-known activities.

Peggy herself received a call from Flynn later in the afternoon. He struck her as abrupt nearly to the point of hostility, although she couldn’t be sure whether that was a result of stress or his actual personality.

“I’m canceling your vacation request, Agent Carter,” Flynn said. “We need all hands on deck here.”

Peggy’s heart sank down into her stomach, but she put a brave smile on her face, even though Flynn wouldn’t see it. “I’ll book the next flight to New York.”

“No, don’t do that. You’re temporarily re-assigned to Los Angeles. I need one good man in charge over there, but you and I both know that Sousa can’t do this on his own.”

Peggy bristled. “Agent Flynn –“

“You want to cry about this, do it on your own time. Sousa needs a right-hand man, and that’ll have to be you. New York and Los Angeles have to coordinate on this investigation, and I can’t spare anyone here. You’ve been in LA for a bit, you know the town, and Sousa assures me that you two can work together. You’re my deputy in LA, for the duration of this case. Find a way to work with Sousa on it.”

“All right.”

After receiving a few other small instructions and exhortations to not waste the SSR’s time and money on frivolities, Peggy went to change her sundress for a work suit, and then went in search of Howard Stark.

She found him setting up the croquet lawn for what was almost certain not to be a regulation game. He waved when he saw her. “Hi, Peg!” he called. “I’m kicking around a few ideas here. Want to join me?”

“Tempting, but another time.”

“You’re going to miss an amazing chain reaction.” Howard seemed to take in her attire for the first time. “Don’t you ever relax? I thought you were on vacation these days.”

“Recalled to duty, I’m afraid.” Peggy watched as Howard arranged the croquet balls in a precise pattern around a single wicket. “I – er, I may be in Los Angeles longer than I originally anticipated.”

“Room’s yours as long as you want it, Peg.” Howard set the croquet mallet down and looked her in the eye. “What we’ve been through together . . . Peg, I don’t have much family left these days. And I always wanted a sister. Let’s admit it now. Mi casa es su casa, as they say in these parts.”

Peggy smiled. “I learned French at school.”

“Houses should be lived in,” Howard said. “I’ve got you here, your actress friend is holding the fort in New York . . . we’ve got a good thing going, so let’s not fuss about it.”

“Thank you.”

“Put ‘er there.” Howard held out his hand. When Peggy took it, he pulled her into a hug. “Now go do your agenting work. And just for future reference . . . anything that goes on under this roof is no one’s business but our own. Got that?”

Peggy and Daniel spent the day in the SSR complex behind the Auerbach Talent Agency rushing from one thing to another. Not only did they spend the entire day on the various small errands that needed to be done to set up the investigation into Thompson’s shooting, but they spent much of that day in separate rooms. Daniel did stop by Peggy’s desk briefly to let her know that he had called the hospital again, and that Thompson still had not regained consciousness, but the first real time they had to spend together was late in the evening.

Peggy was sitting at her desk, going over an inventory of Jack Thompson’s suitcase, which had been found open in his hotel room. Suddenly, something in front of her smelled sharp and savory. She looked up and saw Daniel in front of her, unloading small paper cartons from a larger paper bag.

“We have to eat,” he explained. “I went to the Golden Pagoda. I got egg rolls, chop suey, egg foo young, pork fried rice, and sweet and sour chicken.”

“Is that Chinese?” Peggy asked. “I don’t think I’ve had Chinese food before.”

“It’s good stuff,” Daniel said, “and cheap, too. One egg roll each, and we can share the rest.”

Peggy found two forks in the kitchenette and brought them back to her desk. Dinner was delightfully messy, and the food was delicious, light, but deceptively filling.

“How come you never had Chinese before?” Daniel asked around a mouthful of egg foo young.

Peggy shrugged as she dug her fork into the chop suey. “There hasn’t been much time for restaurants since I’ve been in LA,” she said. “And back in New York I ate either at the boarding house or the Automat. Before that, in the apartment, I just cooked for myself. It was . . . it was an odd time. The war was over, I was in a new country, and . . . Captain Rogers was gone. I suppose I wasn’t really interested in food.”

Daniel didn’t mock her or express any pity. He simply nodded, and ate more egg foo young. “I understand,” he said. “After this happened –“ he thumped his artificial leg – “it felt like everything I ate tasted like sawdust. Believe it or not, Chinese food helped, in a way.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” Daniel moved from the egg foo young to investigate the sweet and sour chicken. “It goes down pretty easy, and it was different. Took my mind off of things.”

Peggy thought of hot, strong coffee and key lime pie at the Automat, accompanied by Angie’s cheerful conversation. “I can imagine.”

Daniel smiled. “First thing I did when I moved out here was look for a good Chinese restaurant. There’s lots of them in this part of the country. This one . . . well.” His voice trailed off, and he was suddenly unable to look Peggy in the eye. “I used to take Violet.”

“Lucky girl,” Peggy said. “And now that we’ve both acknowledged having past attachments, I suppose that it’s time to have that talk.”

Daniel stirred the chicken with his fork. “Why don’t you start?” he said. “I think you’re good at that. And I’m not much with words, anyway.” He sat back and looked at her, waiting.

To her embarrassment, all of Peggy’s words deserted her. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I – I don’t –“ She stopped talking, pressed her lips together, and took a deep breath. “When you’ve been told to sit down and be quiet all of your life, it’s hard to know where to begin talking,” she admitted.

That got a bit of a laugh out of Daniel. “How about this?” he said. “How about you start by telling me what you want?”

“What I want? And you think that will be easier?” Daniel laughed again. It was a friendly laugh, and Peggy relaxed a little.

“I suppose . . . I suppose I want to find out what I want,” she said. “I’ve spent my whole life being told what I ought to do and what I ought to want. There hasn’t been much time for me to think about it, not really. I know that I want to keep on being useful and of service, but beyond that . . .” She thought for a few moments, and Daniel waited patiently. “I want someone to see who I really am and to love me for that. Not just the woman that they imagine they see when they look at me, or the woman they want me to be. I want someone who actually sees me to love me, not some illusion. There. That’s what I want.”

She sat back and stuffed a piece of sweet and sour chicken into her mouth, waiting to hear what Daniel would say to that. The sauce tasted sharp in her mouth, and she wondered which would win in the end, the sweet or the sour.

Daniel didn’t say anything for a few moments. He sat with his eyes turned inward, as if she had said something overwhelmingly profound that he had to consider from every angle.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “Believe it or not, that clears up a lot for me. Shall I tell you what I want?”

“I’m all ears.”

Daniel nodded. “I want to try,” he said. “I want to get to know you. I want to see what it’s like to love you. I don’t want to make promises, and I don’t want you to make promises. I want to be open. I’ve loved you from far away. I want to learn to love you close up.”

Peggy smiled, even as a shiver ran down her spine. “We can try,” she said.

Daniel’s answering smile left crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Good. Then I want one more thing. How about drinks, tomorrow night, at eight-thirty? We could go to the Rhythm Room at the Hayward.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“We’ll relax, have some good conversation, talk about anything that isn’t this case. You’ll be home by eleven.”

“Shall I meet you there?”

“Sure, if you want.” Daniel started to clear away the remains of their Chinese dinner. “You can bring some mad money if you want, but I’ll be happy to see you home.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Then it’s a date.” Daniel bowed himself out of the office, and Peggy couldn’t stifle an unusually girlish giggle as he left.

She stayed for another hour to finish copying the inventory of the suitcase and some other details about Thompson’s hotel room from the police report. But even after she made her way back to Stark’s mansion, Peggy was too excited to go to bed. As she fluttered around her bedroom, she caught sight of the unanswered letter sitting on her night table. Mummie had waited patiently, Peggy decided, and writing would give her something to do to calm her nerves so that she could sleep.

She took Mummie’s letter to her desk and took out a pen and an aerogram. Spreading the delicate sheet of paper out in front of her, Peggy began to write.

_29 July, 1947_

_Los Angeles, California, USA_

_Dear Mummie,_

_Your letter arrived several days ago, but I have been unable to answer until now. The SSR has solved the case of an untimely accident that originally brought me to Los Angeles. However, a new emergency demands that I stay here rather longer than I originally intended. You can continue to write to me at this address; Mr. Stark will see to it that I receive all letters sent to me._

_I have not yet had an orange directly from the tree. I am told that they come into season in the autumn, so it is possible that I will miss them. That would be a shame, but Los Angeles does offer other treats beside oranges. Tonight, I ate Chinese food, which I enjoyed very much, and will almost certainly eat again. I have also agreed to drinks at a nightclub with a particular gentleman from the SSR. If all goes well, I shall write to you with his name._

_Do let me know when you and Daddy might wish to visit. I am sure that Mr. Stark would be able to find a room for you at his home in New York. He is most generous with his homes, although he does not host a proper country weekend._

_Love,_

_Peggy_


	2. Puttin' On The Ritz

  1. **Puttin’ On The Ritz**



_July 24, 1947_

_Dear English,_

_I’m so excited I can hardly write straight! You’ll never guess what’s happened since you’ve been gone. I’ve been cast for the NATIONAL TOUR of a revue called “Three To Make Ready” !!!! I saw it on Broadway last year, I had to save up to get real nosebleed seats, but I got to see Ray Bolger, and now I get to be in it myself! We’ve had two weeks of rehearsals, and we’re traveling clear across the country to start the tour. We’re getting on the train tomorrow, and you won’t believe where we’ll be opening next week. LOS ANGELES! We HAVE to go out to lunch while I’m out there. You can show me all of the best places that you’ve found, and I want to hear all about the adventures that you and Mr. Stark have been having._

_See you real soon! Love and kisses,_

_Angie_

_P.S. Don’t worry about the house here. I cabled Mr. Stark as soon as I got the part, and he says we’re welcome to come and go as we please._

Peggy stuffed Angie’s letter into her handbag as she left for work. The idea of Angie coming to Los Angeles on such short notice made her feel all sorts of things, including a little bit frightened. Angie was much smarter than anyone thought she was, and Peggy knew that it would just keep on becoming more difficult to hide her true profession from her friend. But she also knew that she would absolutely be in the theater the night that _Three To Make Ready_ opened in Los Angeles.

Just as Peggy set her handbag down on her desk, Rose Roberts hurried over to her with a message slip. “Oh, good, you’re here,” she said. “The hospital called about twenty minutes ago.”

Peggy looked at the message slip. It had Dr. Chung’s name and a telephone number. “Did he leave any other message?” she asked.

Rose shook her head. “No. Said it was confidential, but that you should call him back at your earliest convenience. You do that. I have to go back and tell the tap dancers in Reception to tap their way to some other agency.”

Rose hurried away as Peggy hung her hat on the coat tree. She glanced toward Daniel’s office, but he wasn’t there. She picked up the phone on her desk, called the number on the message slip, and told the receptionist on the other end of the line that she was returning Dr. Chung’s call.

When he came to the telephone, Dr. Chung was direct and to the point. “Mr. Thompson has been waking up for short periods, and he’s asking to see you. You should come quickly, though.”

“I’m on my way.” Peggy scrawled a quick note for Daniel, grabbed her hat and bag, and left the office.

When Peggy arrived at the hospital, Dr. Chung took her to the ward where the most serious surgical cases were treated. Peggy knew the way; it was the same ward where Ana Jarvis had stayed. Thompson wasn’t out of the woods yet, and a nurse was stationed just outside his door. Peggy waited at the door while Dr. Chung conferred briefly with the nurse. After a moment, he turned to her.

“It’s all right,” he said. “He’s awake and lucid. You can go in.”

“Don’t stay too long,” the nurse added. “He needs to rest.”

“Of course.” Peggy was surprised that Thompson was awake already, and she had no intention of making things any worse than they already were for him. She pushed the door open as quietly as she could, and slipped into the room.

Thompson lay in a plain, stark white hospital bed, his chest bound up in bandages, and his shoulders bare above them. There was another bed in the room, but it was empty. Thompson looked as pale as his sheets except for the huge dark rings beneath his eyes, but he was awake, and he made a decent effort at a smile when he saw Peggy.

“Hey, Marge,” he breathed.

Just this once, the nickname didn’t irritate Peggy. She pulled up a chair and sat down next to Thompson. He looked even worse at close range. His eyes were bloodshot and weary, and his five o’clock shadow had deepened to at least seven-thirty. Peggy smiled at him.

“You look terrible,” she said.

Thompson chuckled. “Long as I’m alive to look terrible. They’ve been shooting me with some new wonder drug called penicillin, so right now it’s even odds on whether I’ll make it.”

“I forbid you to die. Imagine the paperwork.”

“That’s our Marge. Listen. You can’t go back to New York.”

Peggy sat back in her chair. “So I’ve heard. Why?”

Thompson coughed, and Peggy looked around for help. She spotted a glass and a carafe of water on the night table, and gave him some. Thompson sipped at the water, and was able to catch his breath.

“There’s things going on that you don’t know about, and that you can’t know about. It’s better for you and for the SSR to have you in LA. But you have to trust me on this.”

“I don’t know that I have to trust you about anything.”

“The bullet hole in my chest says you kind of do.”

That reminded Peggy of why she needed Thompson awake in the first place. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Did you see the person who shot you?”

Thompson sighed and gazed off into the middle distance for a moment. “White man,” he said at last. “Light eyes. ‘Bout as tall as me.”

“Would you know him if you saw him again?”

Thompson gave her his best you’re-an-idiot-Marge-but-what-can-I-expect glare. “Didn’t have much time for a friendly get-to-know-you chat, if you know what I mean. The only other thing I know is, I heard him take something out of my suitcase before I blacked out.”

Thompson pushed with his arms to try to shift position in bed, but fell back with a grunt of pain. The nurse hurried into the room. “That’s enough for now,” she said. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come back later.”

As she chivvied Peggy out of the room, Thompson waved to her. “Don’t go taking rides from strange fellows,” he said. Peggy had no time to ask what he meant by that. A few moments later, she found herself in the hallway with Dr. Chung.

“Will he recover, Doctor?”

Dr. Chung flipped through Thompson’s chart. “It’s possible. He’s young, strong, in good shape, and seems to be responding well to the penicillin. It’s as good a chance as any. Are you his wife?”

“I’m the SSR agent investigating the attempt on his life.”

“Good enough for me,” Dr. Chung said. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Peggy hurried back to the SSR office, ducking beneath an arch made of acrobats without really seeing them, and pausing only to give Rose a quick greeting. She went directly to her desk and took out the inventory of Jack Thompson’s suitcase. The list was disappointingly pedestrian. Shirts, shoes, trousers, underwear, ties, socks, garters, shaving supplies. She was mildly surprised to find that a copy of _The Chrysanthemum and the Sword_ was listed, as well as a Brownie box camera. Peggy thought about that for a few minutes, and then took the list to Dr. Samberly.

“Agent Carter!” he said. “What brings you to the Scientific half of our Reserve?”

Peggy handed him the list. “Chief Thompson’s suitcase should be in our evidence locker. Find the camera and develop any film inside. Maybe he took a picture of something that someone didn’t want to have photographed. See if there are any fingerprints on the book. Send that up to me when you’re done with it.”

Samberly looked at the list. “Developing an interest in Japanese culture, are we?”

Peggy shook her head. “No. But Chief Thompson is. After you’ve pulled any fingerprints off of it, I’m going to examine it for notes and then send it over to him at the hospital. He can keep up his studies while he recovers.”

A series of thumps sounded overhead. “Tap dancers?” Samberly asked.

“Acrobats, the last time I looked.”

Samberly sighed. “It’s a good thing the SSR is at least partially scientific. The Strategic people appear to have fallen down the day they decided that a talent agency would provide discreet cover in Hollywood.”

“Rose tells me that they try to hide it as best they can.”

“Well, you can see how well that works.” Samberly huffed. “Don’t they know that theatricals _talk_ to each other? If one of them spots something, the others all know.”

That made perfect sense to Peggy, although it had not occurred to her independently. It also sparked an idea. She thanked Samberly for his help and went back upstairs to call an old acquaintance.

The afternoon proved to be rather less fruitful than the morning. The staff at Thompson’s hotel had clearly been hired for discretion. The desk staff were discreet to the point of having absolutely no idea whether anyone suspicious had called for Mr. Thompson on the day he was due to check out. The hotel manager was primarily concerned about the bill for shampooing the carpet in Mr. Thompson’s room, but was persuaded to reveal that Mr. Thompson had not left anything in the hotel safe. It was only when Peggy started in on the assistant manager that she learned anything useful.

The assistant manager pored over scheduling papers and gave Peggy the names of all the maids who had been on duty the day that Thompson had been shot. It was nearly four in the afternoon before Peggy tracked down Rita Ing, the maid who had been cleaning rooms on Thompson’s floor. Rita didn’t think she had heard a shot, but she was sure that she had heard the thump of Thompson’s body falling down. A minute later, a man in a suit had nearly run her over as he strode toward the elevators. Rita thought the man might have been carrying a file folder; she hadn’t seen a gun, but she had seen Mr. Thompson bleeding out on the carpet. Rita had been horrified, and wished that she had thought to run and investigate as soon as the gun had gone off.

“The assailant probably used a silencer,” Peggy offered. “If you don’t know what that sounds like, you wouldn’t have had any reason to think it was a shot. And if you had come to see, he might have shot you, too.”

It was cold comfort, but it was the best she could give. And at least she had a better idea of what had been taken from Thompson’s room.

When she got back to the SSR, there was a message on her desk, written in Rose’s loopy scrawl. _Mr. Charles Rudnik called for you. The show you asked about will open at the Wadsworth Theatre. You can call the box office to reserve tickets._ Rose had written down a phone number beneath the message. Peggy smiled and tucked the note into her handbag. In addition to preparing for her evening with Daniel, she also had to return Charlie Rudnik’s call, and that was best done from home. She made notes of everything she had learned that day and left the office with a little spring in her step.

Jarvis dropped Peggy off at the Hayward Hotel a few minutes past eight-thirty. She had spent some time considering her outfit for tonight. With Ana’s approval, she had decided on the red dress with the crossed neckline. It was a day dress, but, as Ana pointed out, she moved comfortably in it, and one could never go wrong with red on a date. She had even brought out a new pair of nylon stockings for the occasion. When she walked into the Rhythm Room, she was pleased to see that the red dress was just barely formal enough to pass muster at the door.

Daniel was sitting at the bar, idly twirling a glass around as he pored over a brochure. Peggy slid onto the stool next to him. “That looks fascinating.”

Daniel startled a bit, but laughed when he saw her. “And you look amazing.” He waved to the bartender. “For the lady . . .”

“Whiskey,” she said. “What are you having, Daniel?”

“A Ward 8, which, as it happens, is also largely whiskey. Want a taste?”

Peggy laughed. “Another time, perhaps. I’m not sure cocktails are my style. What had you so interested there?”

Daniel put the brochure on the bar in front of her. It advertised the chemistry degrees available through UCLA.

“I’ve been thinking a little,” Daniel said. “Watching Howard Stark and Jason Wilkes work has been inspiring. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I started reading up on chemistry while I was in the hospital with my leg. At first, it was just to understand what the docs were telling me, but I got pretty good at it, enough to get a job with the SSR.”

“But you never studied it formally?” Peggy asked.

Daniel shook his head. “No way a fellow like me could afford a college degree. But now, I was thinking, maybe I could take advantage of the GI Bill. That’d pay my way through. And if I took classes part-time at UCLA, I could get my degree and still stay at the SSR.”

“That sounds like a wonderful chance,” Peggy said.

“I’d be the first in my family to get a college degree.”

“Your family will be enormously proud of you.” Peggy’s whiskey arrived, and she took first a small sip to taste it, and then a larger sip upon discovering that it was quite good. “I don’t think I know anything about your family. We never really had a moment to talk.”

“That’s why we’re here now.” Daniel tilted his cocktail in her general direction. “I’m originally from Fall River in Massachusetts. It’s a little town that used to be textile mills.”

Peggy tried to place the names, but she only got as far as Massachusetts. “I’m sorry, my American geography isn’t quite what it should be yet. Is that near Boston?”

“Fifty miles away. Let me show you.” Daniel took a pen from his jacket pocket and started to sketch a map on a cocktail napkin. Peggy leaned over to see what he was drawing. She was close enough to smell the Ward 8 on his breath. It made her stomach flutter, and she thought she might potentially change her mind about cocktails at some point in the future.

“So there’s Fall River,” Daniel said. “Right across the water from Rhode Island. Like I said, it used to be textile mills. I started out working in one when I was sixteen, but the tire company came in a few years later, so I switched. Worked there until the war, and I joined up.”

“And if the war hadn’t happened?”

Daniel shrugged. “I’d probably still be working at the tire factory. Wasn’t bad money, and my folks never had enough, trying to raise a big Catholic family in the Depression.”

Peggy smiled, trying to imagine Daniel as a small boy, running around in a pack of other small children. “How many brothers and sisters?”

“I’m the second of seven.”

“Seven!” Peggy had never known any family with that many children when she was little. The largest families in the Carters’ circle had four, and in one case, that was only because of a pair of twins.

“I have an older sister named Gloria, who is married and producing a big Catholic family of her own,” Daniel said. “Then there’s me, and then Clarissa, Tito, Manny, Rosa, and Joey. How about you?”

Peggy looked down into her whiskey. “All I had was my older brother Michael. He was killed at Abbeville back in 1940, just a few weeks before I was meant to be married.” Even now, she could still remember looking out the window and seeing Mummie crumpling to her knees upon receiving the news.

Daniel’s warm hand covered her own, and brought her back to the present. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have figured.”

“It was a long time ago,” Peggy replied. “I was just thinking . . . I was a completely different person then.”

“I bet.” Daniel took a sip of his drink. “You said you were engaged . . . do I have to worry about a dashing Englishman coming out of the woodwork or something?”

Peggy laughed, even as her heart gave one last little ache for Michael. “Fred? Oh, no! Good Lord, I haven’t even thought about him in years. I broke it off with him after Michael was killed. I don’t even know what’s happened to him.”

“Well, his loss,” Daniel said. He squeezed her hand, and warmth flowed all through Peggy’s body.

“Absolutely.”

“I miss the days when I could ask a pretty girl to dance,” Daniel said.

Peggy listened to the band for a moment. The tune was slow and romantic, dripping with low brass. “We could try,” she said. “Off in the corner. You could lean on me.”

Daniel’s eyes shone in the dim light of the nightclub, and Peggy wondered why she had never noticed before how richly brown they were. He picked up his crutch, and they made their way to the dimmest edge of the dance floor. Daniel leaned the crutch against the wall and took Peggy in his arms. At first, he was a little unsteady, and there were one or two moments when Peggy had to hold him up as he wobbled. But little by little, he found his balance, and with it came a bit more confidence.

There were no spins or fancy footwork. For their first dance, Peggy and Daniel mostly held on to each other, shuffling in slow circles around their dark little corner of the floor. But nevertheless, they were dancing. Daniel’s breath smelled like whiskey and citrus, and his broad shoulders radiated a warmth that was welcome even on a Los Angeles summer night. Together, they found the rhythm of the music and swayed to it, ignoring the other dancers on the floor and likewise ignored by them. Daniel’s face was aglow with the happiness of dancing, and that was the only thing that Peggy cared to notice.

As promised, Daniel had her home by eleven. Before she went to bed, Peggy wrote a quick note, and addressed it to Miss Angel Martine, care of the Wadsworth Theatre.

_30 July, 1947_

_Dear Angie,_

_Welcome to Los Angeles! If you are not too caught up with rehearsals, I would love to take you to lunch. There are so many things that I want to tell you about – I have missed having a friend outside of work. Have you ever eaten Chinese food?_

_I will of course come to see your show. How thrilling, to be in a travelling company! Captain Rogers told me something of the life. You must tell me more when we meet again._

_Yours,_

_Peggy_


	3. Scarred Souls

  1. **Scarred Souls**



_Hi Peggy!_

_Miss me? I’ll come looking for you real soon. I know something you don’t know!_

_Sweet Dreams,_

_D._ _U._

Peggy crumpled the note in her hands, unable to decide whether she was more angry or more apprehensive. She had pulled it out of her handbag while looking for her handkerchief upon arriving at the office, and she was quite sure that there had been no note when she had left for work. Somewhere along her way, someone had slipped that little piece of paper into her handbag, and she had not noticed. “D. U.” was almost certainly Dottie Underwood, one of the few people Peggy had met whom she found truly frightening.

Her first impulse was to hide the note back in her handbag where no one would see it. A part of her wanted to run out of the office that very minute and go looking for someone, anyone, who could point her toward whatever bolthole Dottie Underwood had found for herself. But a deep breath made her stop and reconsider. Hitting Dottie until she fell down for good would certainly feel satisfying for a moment, but then she might never find out what it was that Dottie knew. And there was always the possibility that Dottie knew something about the attempt on Chief Thompson’s life.

If Peggy stayed put, Dottie would come to her. And she would be ready, now that she knew that Dottie was coming. She would have to warn Howard and Jarvis, of course; the thought of Dottie getting anywhere near Ana Jarvis lit a white-hot fire of rage inside Peggy. And Daniel ought to know as well, especially if Dottie had information about Thompson’s shooting.

Just as this thought crossed Peggy’s mind, Daniel arrived at the office. He caught Peggy’s eye and smiled at her, and she couldn’t help blushing a little. Daniel came straight to her desk.

“I had a good time last night,” he said. “I’d love to do it again some time.”

“We’ll make a dancer of you yet,” she replied, a little surprised at how easily the words came to her.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Daniel’s smile faded. “I was just over at the hospital.”

“Oh? How is Thompson doing? Did he remember anything else?”

Daniel shook his head. “I think you got everything out of him that he’s going to give us.”

“There has to be something else. Maybe he’ll remember it later.”

“Possibly.” Daniel shrugged. “He’s got bigger worries than that at the moment, though.”

“They do still think he’ll live?” The vehemence of her own question surprised her. She hadn’t expected to care this much whether Jack Thompson lived or died.

“The doc said that if he’s made it this far, he’ll probably live,” Daniel said. “But it’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

A pang of some intense emotion that Peggy couldn’t quite identify swept across Daniel’s face. “Peggy . . . you don’t just walk away from an injury like that.”

She thought of Ana Jarvis, still trying to regain her normal effervescence while mourning the emergency hysterectomy that had helped to save her life. “I know.”

Daniel took a deep breath. “They think there’s some . . . nerve damage. They don’t know how much yet. But he’s not going to come back from this the same as he was before.”

His knuckles turned stark white as he gripped the handle of his crutch hard. Peggy thought back to her visit to Thompson and remembered how he had struggled to push himself up with his arms. “It’s his spine, isn’t it?”

“He said he couldn’t feel much below his chest. That’s not a good sign.”

“Do you mean he might not . . .” Peggy couldn’t quite bring herself to say the end of that sentence out loud. “Good Lord.”

“Yeah. And it’s not like he was ever my buddy or anything like that, but . . . it’s something.” Daniel’s eyes were shining and liquid, and he bit down so savagely on his lower lip that Peggy feared he might draw blood. He looked as shaken as he had been the night that Violet had called off their engagement, clearly desperately in need of a soothing touch. But they were in the middle of the SSR office, and Peggy had never been especially good at comforting people. She reached out and covered his hand on the crutch with her own, stroking her thumb across the back of his hand until his death grip loosened and blood could flow into his fingers again.

Daniel breathed in and out, swallowing down his distress in a way that reminded Peggy of Steve. “I want to dance with you again,” he said, so softly that Peggy could barely hear him.

“Yes,” she murmured back. “Not tonight. But soon.”

He managed a little smile at that. Then he stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and became Chief Sousa again, heading to his office to go to work.

Peggy spent the morning making lists of things that she knew, connecting bits of information to each other, and idly sketching abstract designs as she tried to spin workable theories from her mess of cloudy thoughts. She was fairly certain that the thing stolen from Thompson’s suitcase was the dossier he had used in his abortive attempt to blackmail her. She wished she had taken the time to read some of it instead of giving it a quick glance and going on to scold Thompson about it.

Much of it had been censored, but from what little she remembered of what she could see, the dossier contained absolutely nothing correct about her. The most obvious conclusion was that the dossier was fake. But for the few moments she had held it, it had felt genuine. Peggy wondered why anyone would take the trouble not only to gin up a dossier framing her for war crimes, but also to censor it in just the right places. Thompson had told her that New York wasn’t safe for her at the moment, and the existence of the dossier did seem to support that conclusion.

Her stomach growled, and Peggy realized that it was lunchtime. She had done nothing all morning but sit at her desk drawing connections.

“I need a change of scene,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. There was a luncheonette a few blocks away from the Auerbach Talent Agency that she had noticed but had never visited before. It seemed like the ideal destination; she could stretch her legs and her mind and get food. Thinking that Daniel might like to join her, she tapped gently on his door. There was no response. She eased the door open and peered inside.

Daniel sat in his chair, perfectly still, his body draped over his desk, and his head pillowed on his folded arms. Peggy closed the door quietly. On her way out, she advised Rose to take telephone messages for Mister Auerbach for the next hour or so.

The luncheonette turned out to be only moderately busy, and Peggy found a stool without much difficulty. She ordered a bacon and tomato sandwich and a glass of orange juice. The waitress who brought her food wore a short-sleeved uniform, much like the one Angie had worn, and a nametag identifying her as “Sonia.” When she set the food down, Peggy’s eyes were drawn to the number tattooed on the waitress’s wrist.

Sonia noticed her gaze. “It is a strange tattoo, yes? It was given to me in Germany, at Buchenwald. Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard the name.”

Peggy had met up with Dum-Dum Dugan for drinks shortly before the war had officially ended. Dum-Dum had been uncharacteristically quiet at first. But after a few shots of something cheap and harsh, he told her that he and his new division had responded to a distress call from Buchenwald and had liberated the camp. When Peggy asked what he had seen there, Dum-Dum was silent for a while. Then he tossed back another shot and told Peggy not to go to any German concentration camp. She had been so surprised at Dum-Dum’s tone of grim command that she had obeyed. If something could make Dum-Dum Dugan sound like the voice of Death itself, then she would take his warning seriously.

She looked Sonia in the eye. “They’re not going to get away with it.”

“Good. The world must know what they did.”

Peggy picked up her sandwich, then put it down again. “How do you stand it?” she asked Sonia. “How did you survive, hearing the lies they were telling about you, for years on end? How do you – I don’t know. How do you pick up the pieces?”

Sonia glanced down at the coffee pot she was holding. “I don’t know,” she said. “They took my life from me, so I came here to start a new one. People like you, who look at me with questions, I tell them the truth. I cannot forget. No one else should be allowed to forget, either.”

Another customer signaled for coffee, and Sonia hurried off to take care of him. Peggy ate her sandwich and drank her juice, but did not really taste either of them. Her mind was filled with vague hints of terrible crimes only partly hidden behind the censor’s black bar. The war had ended, but the echoes were still ringing.

Following an afternoon spent running down details on a series of minor issues that had been brought to the attention of the SSR, Peggy returned home only to find a scene of chaos. A crowd of reporters stood at the gates to Howard Stark’s mansion, yelling questions, insinuations, and the odd bit of invective. Jarvis tried to shoo them away without success, and Howard glared at them from the front drive, scowling, his arms folded across his chest.

This was not something Peggy felt prepared to deal with at the moment. There was a back approach to Stark’s house that she hoped the press didn’t know about. She went to put the car in reverse, but the engine noise caught the attention of a cub reporter on the edge of the scrum.

“Hey!” the cub yelled. In an instant, the mob had surrounded the car. Flashbulbs went off in Peggy’s face, and questions rained down from her, so many that she could only make out a few words and phrases. “Subversive activities,” “Divisive propaganda,” and “Double loyalty” were the only ones she heard clearly. Peggy attempted to shield her eyes from the flashes, digging blindly through her handbag in search of her sunglasses. One of the reporters reached into the car, but before he could grab anything, a weird, high-pitched, oscillating noise split the air, and then silence fell.

When Peggy’s vision cleared, she saw the crowd of reporters standing silently, staring in shock at Howard, who was holding an object that looked as though a pistol and a radio had produced an unfortunate offspring. “That was setting one,” Howard said. “Ready for setting two?”

The crowd backed away, but Howard took a step forward. “Uh-uh. First, you owe Miss Carter an apology. _Then_ you can go.”

The reporters said nothing, but stared at Howard. Howard gave them a meaningful look and slowly twisted a knob on his device. “Setting two.”

The reporters mumbled something that might have been apologies while slowly backing away. Jarvis herded them along until they were out of sight. When he spotted Jarvis returning, Howard went over to the car and offered Peggy his hand. She took it and followed him into the house while Jarvis parked the car.

“What is that thing?” she asked, once she had found her voice.

Howard shrugged. “It was supposed to be a massage device of . . . some variety. Too much of the energy is sonic, though.”

Peggy gave that an instant of thought, and grimaced. “Dare I ask what setting two does?”

“Makes all the dogs in the neighborhood start howling. Come on. You look like you could use a bit of a drink before dinner.”

As he was in a surprising number of instances, Howard was entirely right about the drink. With a little bit of whiskey between her and her day, Peggy was able to sit down at the dinner table at least semi-composed. Howard asked Jarvis and Ana to join them for dinner, clearly thinking that a larger group would soothe everyone’s nerves and that this was worth making the Jarvises cross social lines. Jarvis had made a gratin of salmon, eggs, and onions, and he made Ana smile by promising her an apple tart to follow. While Peggy was pleased at the promise of apple tart as well, she especially appreciated the gratin, as it reminded her of things she had eaten at home before the war.

“What was that mess out front all about?” she asked.

Howard frowned into his gratin. “Apparently, there are branches of the United States government that don’t know what to do with themselves if they don’t have an enemy to fight,” he said. “It seems that I’ve come to the attention of the House Un-American Activities Committee, a group with most fortunate acronym the world has yet seen. HUAC!” He spit the word out like a wad of phlegm.

“They think you’re a Communist?” Ana asked, giggling into her glass of Chardonnay.

“They have their suspicions, I guess.”

Peggy put her cutlery down. “Are you a Communist?” she asked. She had been in serious trouble once before over Howard; it seemed prudent to avoid a second round.

Howard tossed back the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle. “No, I’m not. You want to know why? Because I like things that work, and as far as I can tell, Stalin isn’t actually getting the results he says he is. And because I also like the money that I make with my inventions, and I know for a fact that a Communist government wouldn’t let me keep it.”

Peggy relaxed a little. “Thank you, Howard. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . with my job . . .”

“I know. It’s okay.” Howard flashed his ladykiller smile at her to make her laugh. “Better you should know the facts now, because those accusations are going to keep coming back. Now you know, and you can walk forth armed with that knowing.”

“How do you know they’ll keep accusing you?” Peggy asked. “Surely you can, I don’t know, release a statement to the press telling them what you’ve just told me.”

Howard smiled. Ana burst out laughing, earning a puzzled frown from Jarvis.

“Sir,” Jarvis ventured. “Perhaps this is a serious question that might merit –“

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Jarvis,” Howard said. “You either, Peg. Ana here can vouch for me, can’t you?”

“Communists, or traitors, or Bolsheviks, it’s all the same in the end,” Ana said. “They are cowards, and they won’t say what they really mean. Certainly not _now_.”

Jarvis suddenly looked weary. “I had hoped this would be the last of it,” he said quietly.

“No,” Howard said. “It won’t. Because it’s not about whether we’re Communists. Even if we were, it wouldn’t make a difference, and they know it. It’s about how we’re . . . what’s Uncle Joe calling it these days? Right. We’re ‘rootless cosmopolitans.’ It’s the one thing that HUAC and the Soviets can agree on, even if they don’t actually know it.”

Peggy thought about Dum-Dum’s haggard thousand-mile stare in the bar. “That’s absolutely appalling! We just finished fighting a war about this –“

“No, Peg. We didn’t.” Howard sighed. “That wasn’t what the war was about. We fought a war, and we won a war, and it was an important war, and we should be damn proud of ourselves. But it wasn’t that war.”

“Well, what are you going to do, then?”

Ana put on a brave smile. “What we have always done. We are going to live, and enjoy our lives, and we will not let anyone take that away from us.”

“Hear, hear,” Howard said. “In that spirit of enjoyment, I’ve heard rumors that there’s an apple tart lurking around the kitchen somewhere. Jarvis, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Jarvis smiled. “Of course, sir.”

Later that night, Peggy sat on her bed and inspected Dottie Underwood’s note thoroughly. The paper was thin and cheap, and the ink had soaked into it, fuzzing the letters a little. But there were no smudges, and the script was as clear and careful as a penmanship text. Peggy realized that she had never seen Dottie’s handwriting before. But if she had given any thought to that question, she would have expected Dottie to write like this – perfectly formed, exquisitely legible letters with no taint of individuality that would provide a clue to someone trying to trace a note.

Peggy still got a cold shiver up her spine when she thought about the Leviathan training facility in Russia. Having met both a fully formed product of the facility and a trainee, she had to admit that, although it was unconscionably sadistic, this program really did work. Dottie was lethal, but she was also perfectly cultured, flawlessly presentable as American (and, Peggy was sure, equally able to assume a British persona), and blisteringly intelligent. In fact, as much as Peggy’s heart shrank at the disloyalty, she suspected that Dottie was a better actress than Angie Martinelli or Whitney Frost combined.

All of which meant that, if Dottie had let her presence and the hint of her intentions be known, she had done it deliberately. If she wanted to share information with Peggy, there had to be a reason. It was entirely possible that Dottie was acting on the orders of whoever controlled the Leviathan girls, in which case the information would likely be a subtle lie. But Peggy suspected that something else was behind the note.

The last time Peggy had seen Dottie, she had been reeling from a rare defeat and had not seemed to be under anyone’s total control. The flaw in Leviathan’s program was that it needed girls who were smart, and such girls were entirely capable of spotting and taking advantage of rare opportunities to cut their handlers loose and use their skills to become the mistresses of their own destinies. So it seemed marginally more probable that Dottie was actually operating as a free agent, even if temporarily, and that whatever she knew that Peggy didn’t know could be valuable for something. The trick was to draw Dottie out in a controlled fashion.

As Peggy thought about that challenge, her eye wandered to the jewelry box that sat open on her vanity. The Arena Club pin that Jack had given her glittered next to her pearls. Peggy wondered if Dottie knew that it was a key, or if she knew what door that key might open. There was one good way to find out. She would write back to Dottie and leave the note in her handbag, sticking out just a little bit. With any luck, Dottie would take it from her when she went to work the next day.

Peggy took a pen from the vanity and wrote on the reverse side of Dottie’s note.

_I’m sure you know many things that I don’t know. And I have something that you don’t have._

_P.C._


	4. Chasing Shadows

  1. **Chasing Shadows**



_WESTERN UNION_

_MR D AUERBACH_

_AUERBACH TALENT AGENCY LOS ANGELES CA_

_PERSONS OF INTEREST KNOWN TO BE IN YOUR AREA KEEP EYES PEELED FOR TALENT FROM ABROAD SHOWSTOPPING POTENTIAL_

_JOHN FLYNN_

Peggy had just sat down with Daniel in his office to discuss plans for handling a potential encounter with Dottie when Rose knocked on the door to deliver the telegram. Daniel read it first, then passed it on to Peggy.

“Thanks, Rose,” he said.

“Of course.” Rose hesitated for a moment. “I don’t mean to interrupt any more than I have, but there’s a card going around the office for Chief Thompson. If we can get everyone to sign it, I can send it out today. Can I just bring it in here real quick?”

The card had a cute cartoon of a long-legged rabbit carrying a basket of apples and seemed entirely more appropriate for a child who had caught scarlet fever than for a man who had been shot and possibly paralyzed for life. Rose caught Peggy’s raised eyebrow when she saw it and shrugged. “It was the best I could do. You should have seen the other ones in the store.”

Peggy smiled and opened the card to find a collection of scrawled signatures, some with little notes beside them. She added a message of good wishes to the rest, signed it “Marge,” and passed the card to Daniel for his signature.

“Thanks,” Rose said. “That’s everyone. I’ll put this in the mail when I go to lunch.” She shut the door behind her without being told.

“Speaking of Chief Thompson,” Peggy said, “have you heard anything new?”

Daniel nodded. “He’s going to live. Won’t be going home for a while, though. They’re planning on moving him to this new VA hospital in Van Nuys when he’s strong enough. Apparently a fellow there’s been doing cutting-edge work on spinal cord injuries.”

“Do you think Thompson will walk again?”

“Doubt it. He might get some quality of life, though, if this doc is as good as they say he is.” Daniel closed his teeth delicately over the end of his pen and glanced at a half-completed form on his desk. “Looks like Acting Chief Flynn is going to be heading up New York longer than expected. Do you know anything about him? I remember that he arrived about a week before I left to come here.”

Peggy frowned. “He’s clever enough. Degree in physics, I think, not sure from where.”

“Doesn’t count if it’s not Oxford or Cambridge?”

That drew a little smile out of Peggy. “Flynn is clever, but not terribly imaginative. I think he came from the FBI. When I left, he was still getting accustomed to the sorts of things we see in our division.”

Daniel considered this. “And by ‘not imaginative,’ you’d also be referring to . . . ?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Without a doubt.” She looked up and caught a very particular gleam in Daniel’s eye. “And if you’re considering devising some ulterior motives to extend my stay in Los Angeles past the moment when Flynn recalls me –“

“Oh, you don’t understand. There’s nothing ulterior about my motives.” He waggled his eyebrows the way that Groucho Marx did in the movies.

Peggy laughed out loud. Even as she did so, it struck her that she rarely did so in male company. Steve and the Howling Commandos had been able to make her fall over with laughter, and Howard could at least coax a polite giggle out of her, but very few other men could. But Daniel exuded warmth and was ever ready with his wry sense of humor. Peggy liked that she could laugh with him.

“What’s that?” she asked, nodding at the form on his desk.

Daniel looked at it, and a shy half-smile spread across his face. “That’s the application form for UCLA.”

“Oh!” Peggy sat back in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were that far along.”

“I’m not, really,” Daniel said. “The parts I filled in are just the easy stuff, like name and address and stuff about my folks and all that. There’s some other things that I have to go look up, and it turns out that I have to sign up to take the SAT, which I think is a kind of intelligence test.”

“That all sounds very . . . complicated.”

“You’re telling me!” Daniel chuckled. “Fortunately, I have a plan for tonight. It does not involve dancing with you, and more’s the pity, but it does involve sitting down and having a couple of beers with a fellow who’s already at UCLA on the GI Bill. I figure he can give me the inside scoop about all of this.”

“Well, good luck,” Peggy said. “I’d offer any help I can, but I never went to university either. It all sounds terribly exciting.”

“It is,” Daniel said. “And more than a little scary, too. Listen, I have to get some actual work done here. It sounds like Dottie wants to try to control how she meets you, so be on the alert. And if you do spot her, get backup.”

“Daniel, I can handle myself.”

“I know that,” Daniel said. “That is one thing about you that I will never forget. But with someone like Dottie Underwood, the more witnesses we have, the better. So, you get someone to back you up and be that extra pair of eyes on the situation.”

Peggy paused for a moment. She was a little ashamed to admit that she hadn’t thought about that aspect of the job nearly as much as she should have done. But that was why there were agencies, she supposed. Even Steve had needed backup. “All right. I’ll do my best. And in the meantime, I’m going to go see Chief Thompson again. I think I have a few more questions for him.”

Daniel nodded. “As long as they’re not questions about his health or future prospects. He seemed pretty testy on that point.”

“So noted.” Peggy made sure to shut the office door on her way out.

She found Thompson out of bed, sitting up in a chair in a lounge area. He had a blanket over his lap and a thick, lumpy cardigan over his hospital gown. Someone had found him a razor and a comb, and some of the color had come back into his face. “You’re looking well,” she said.

“Marge!” Thompson laughed a little, though there was an edge to it. “Come to get in on the pity party?”

“Not a bit. They said that you’re going to live, so there’s no cause for pity.” She took a small paper grocery sack from her handbag. “I brought you some grapes.”

Thompson looked both surprised and genuinely touched. “Well, thank you,” he said. “Everyone else sends flowers. They’re all around my bed. It’s like sleeping in a goddamn jungle, and I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime. At least you can eat grapes.”

“That’s true.” Apparently, Americans brought flowers to hospital patients instead of grapes. She would have to ask Howard about that, or perhaps Rose.

Thompson popped a grape into his mouth. “These are good. But you didn’t come here just to be the bearer of fruit. What’s going on?”

“I think I know what the person who shot you stole from your suitcase.”

“Wasn’t my hula girl tie, was it?” Thompson asked, forcing a chuckle. “Bought that in Honolulu on my way home after V-J Day. It’s near and dear to my heart.”

“I’m sure.” Peggy had seen the tie at the SSR Christmas party just after Daniel had left. She had not been amused. “Don’t worry, your tie is safe for the moment. It was that dossier that you showed me, the one you intended to use to accuse me of war crimes.”

Thompson had the grace to look mildly ashamed about that. “I won’t lie to you. That dossier does not look good for you.”

“Except for the fact that everything in it is patently false,” Peggy shot back. “As anyone who knows how to find my actual war record would realize upon first glance. I’ve never been to half the places mentioned in that dossier, and that’s only the bits that aren’t censored.”

“I want to believe you,” Thompson said. “I really do. But I’ve been through that dossier over and over and over again. The paper is real. The coding is correct, the censoring is correct – hell, even the signatures are in real ink! If it’s fake, or a hoax, then it’s the best goddamn fake I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that it appeared so conveniently when Vernon Masters told you to find a way to discredit me? That it was right there, at the perfect moment, in the perfect place?”

Thompson threw his hands in the air. “Don’t you read the newspapers?” he asked. “Seriously, the amount of paperwork they’re still sorting through and finding out, dossiers like this will be turning up for fifty years. Even the Nuremberg Trials are just the beginning of all this.”

Peggy had to admit that Thompson had a point. As much as it had taken the best efforts of multiple Allied armed forces and the scientific genius of several countries to defeat Hitler, Mussolini, and Tojo, it had also taken quite a bit of spycraft, diplomacy, subterfuge, and paperwork as well.

“You fight fire with fire, and you fight bureaucracy with bureaucracy,” Thompson said, a little more quietly.

Peggy got up and paced across the room and back. “All right. Let’s put aside the question of whether or not that file is genuine. The first thing we need to do is find it. Someone wanted it badly enough to try to kill you to prevent you taking it back to New York.”

Thompson looked thoughtful. “The original plan to discredit you came from Vernon Masters. But he died when Doctor Wilkes unleashed the Zero Matter. Unless you’ve found otherwise, that is.”

“We haven’t.” Peggy stared out the window at the traffic on the street below. “Where did it come from? Perhaps whoever gave it to you wants it back.”

Thompson shrugged. “Ran into an old friend of mine, Nick Driscoll. We were at Cornell together for a bit. He’d been at Cambridge, and was doing a graduate program, I think. Said he was in MI-5 now. Anyway, he gave me the file. When Vernon said to find a way to discredit you, there it was.”

It wasn’t the smoking gun Peggy had hoped for, but it was at least some place to begin. And she had an excellent idea of how to proceed. She was glad that Daniel had already decided to go out to talk to his UCLA contact that evening; for what she had in mind, Daniel would only be in the way.

An hour later, Peggy was on the telephone with a secretary at the British Consulate-General in Los Angeles. She sobbed rather convincingly into the receiver as she explained how she, Polly Turner of Hull, had been seduced by the dashing young Agent Nick Driscoll in the back of a pub in Southwark, and had fallen pregnant, and her dear old Da was threatening to turn her out into the road if she did not find her baby’s father and marry him, and she had tried simply _everywhere_ , and a _very nice young man_ in London had suggested Los Angeles, and . . .

“All right!” the secretary cried. “Please, no more.”

Two minutes later, Peggy had the name and desk telephone number of Driscoll’s hotel, as well as the name of the bar that his expense accounts indicated that he frequented. Angie would have been terribly proud of her.

As Peggy returned to the office after lunch, she passed a fancy department store with jewelry on display in the window. Something sparkled, and Peggy stopped to take a look at it; she might be a thoroughly professional woman, but surely that didn’t mean she couldn’t look at pretty things every now and again. She allowed herself to admire a display of vermeil-and-rhinestone brooches shaped like glittering insects, and was actually contemplating going into the store to ask the price of one especially attractive dragonfly, when she noticed that a saleslady was looking at her through the department store window. The saleslady gave a broad smile, and suddenly Peggy recognized Dottie Underwood.

She stepped back from the window in surprise, and watched as Dottie turned away to help a customer. Dottie hovered solicitously as a woman in a smartly tailored bottle-green dress with a small capelet examined a tray of necklaces. Dottie helped the woman try the necklaces on, one by one, and held a mirror so that the woman could see the effect of each one. Peggy bowed her head and tried to keep one eye on the brooches in the window and one eye on Dottie and her customer.

After a few minutes, the customer and Dottie decided on a necklace, and Dottie moved out of sight to wrap it up. Peggy tore herself away from the window and walked away, contemplating what she had just seen. Dottie must have guessed that Peggy had an Arena Club pin; the jewelry counter was the perfect place to disguise a conversation about it. And who would notice if a young lady brought in her husband’s club pin to be cleaned or to have a stone reset? And, Peggy had to admit, Dottie’s cover was better than any she had yet seen. Dottie did in fact have excellent taste in jewelry. Of the necklaces that the customer had tried on, Dottie had helped her to choose exactly the one that Peggy herself would have recommended.

Clearly, it was time for a little shopping trip before she went to surprise Nick Driscoll at his favorite bar. Remembering Daniel’s advice about witnesses, Peggy waited at the front desk of the Auerbach Talent Agency. She listened politely to a soprano sing “O mio babbino caro” and be gently shown the door before she perched on the edge of Rose’s desk.

Rose smiled. “You look like you have something up your sleeve,” she said.

“That’s entirely possible,” Peggy allowed. “Rose, fancy a quick afternoon shopping trip? There’s a fantastic department store downtown that has a marvelous display of . . . Russian elegance in the window.” She opened her handbag just a little to display the badge and the revolver that she carried inside.

Rose’s eyebrows shot up, and her smile turned into a grin of delight. “Well, I could certainly use some new gloves,” she said. “And maybe something special, too. Aloysius and I are going dancing tomorrow night.”

Peggy tried and failed to picture Dr. Aloysius Herbert Samberly dancing. Of course, she realized, plenty of people would have had similar ideas about Daniel, and that had worked out well enough. She made a mental note to take Rose out to a real ladies’ lunch at some opportune moment to compare notes on their dancing partners. “That sounds lovely,” she said. “I just need to nip upstairs to get something.”

“Meet you back here in ten,” Rose said, already reaching for the drawer where she kept her handbag revolver.

A block away from the department store, Peggy and Rose made their plan. Rose would enter the store first while Peggy waited at the traffic light. After the light changed, Peggy would enter using a different door. They would make their way in the general direction of the jewelry counter, and Rose would position herself close enough to monitor the situation, but not so close that she would tip Dottie off immediately.

At the appointed moment, Peggy took a deep breath, crossed the street, and entered the department store. Rose had stationed herself at the glove counter, and appeared to be considering the merits of ivory rayon and lace as opposed to white cotton mesh. The position of the glove counter gave Rose a perfect view of the jewelry counter. Dottie was just finishing up with a customer, and offered a polite smile when Peggy stepped up.

“How can I help you today, ma’am?” Dottie asked.

Peggy shifted her handbag so that she could easily dip inside it. “I have a rather unusual item that I’d like to match,” she said. “It’s my husband’s club pin. I want to surprise him with matching cufflinks for our anniversary.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet? Do you have the pin?”

“I mustn’t lose it. He doesn’t know I have it.” Peggy opened her handbag and held it so that Dottie could peer inside.

“That’s certainly an elegant piece, ma’am,” Dottie said, her voice dripping with honey. “You want the cufflinks to pick up from the pin?”

“That would be lovely.” Peggy reached into the handbag, letting her hand brush the grip of her revolver, and quickly twisted the pin to reveal that it was a key. “And perhaps a locket for me. So we can be a matched pair.”

The look of vapid helpfulness on Dottie’s face didn’t shift an inch, but something in her eyes hardened. “How about custom pieces?” she asked. “I have just the man for you. Our in-house designer.”

“Ooh.” Peggy let her eyes go wide. “That sounds expensive.”

Dottie actually giggled. “Oh, believe me, he’s just the man. Your husband will love his work. Let me give you his business card. If you want him to do the job, just come back and see me.”

To Peggy’s mild surprise, Dottie really did produce a business card from somewhere underneath the jewelry counter. She turned it over, scrawled something on the back, and handed it to Peggy. “You can ask for me by name when you make up your mind.”

The back of the card proclaimed that Dottie’s alias-of-the-moment had changed to “Shirley,” with the initials “H. J.” following. Peggy smiled at her. “Thank you very much, ma’am,” she said. “I’ll think about it and come back later.”

“You do that, hon!”

Peggy rolled her eyes as she left the store. As soon as she was far enough away that no one would see her, she paused and took out her powder compact. In its mirror, she could see Rose crossing the street, carrying a small bag.

“Did you get what you needed?” Rose asked.

“I did. Or, at least enough to think about.” Peggy glanced at the bag. “You?”

Rose smiled and opened the bag to reveal the rayon and lace gloves nestled next to a tiny bugging device. “You can never go wrong with a little lace around the wrists, I always say.”

Back at the office, Peggy and Rose presented Daniel with their findings. He listened to the conversation between Peggy and Dottie that the bugs had picked up, and looked at the card. “She definitely knows something,” he said. “I’m just curious why she’s decided to tell you. What does she gain by feeding you information?”

“That’s what has me worried,” Peggy admitted. “Dottie only worked for us before because I held her life over her head, and even that didn’t work out terribly well. It’s unlike her to volunteer anything that’s true.”

Rose shrugged. “Maybe she’s putting you on a fake trail.”

“Well, let’s follow it for now,” Daniel said. “Chase down this lead and see if it’s any good. Even if it isn’t, we might be able to get some hint about what’s really going on from the misdirection. I’ll cable Flynn back and keep him updated.”

_WESTERN UNION_

_MR J FLYNN_

_NEW YORK BELL COMPANY_

_INITIAL AUDITION PROMISING WILL CALL BACK FOR SECOND READ_

_D AUERBACH_


	5. Mam'selle

  1. **Mam’selle**



_July 31, 1947_

_Dear English,_

_Thank you so much for the note! It was waiting for me at the theater when we arrived, and boy, were all the other girls jealous that I had mail already! Hope you don’t mind that I told them it was a fan letter. LA is BEAUTIFUL. I can’t WAIT to see more of it with you, but not until after opening night. Which is SOON!!! _

_Until we open,_

_Angie_

Jarvis had placed the hotel postcard on Peggy’s pillow so that she would be sure to spot it when she went in to change for her evening mission to find Nick Driscoll. She had decided for the sake of convenience that Polly Turner of Hull had had her baby already. She smiled wryly at herself upon realizing that, over the past few years, most of her wardrobe had come to consist of rather nice American clothing. She had to hunt in Howard’s costume closet and beg a scarf from Ana Jarvis, but eventually, she came up with an outfit that said _poor English girl trying to look her best_. Armed with a photograph of Dr. Samberly’s baby niece, she set out on her mission.

She parked the car two blocks away from the bar that Driscoll liked, checked in the rearview mirror to ensure that she looked just rumpled enough, took a few deep breaths, and thought very hard about what might have happened if Daniel had been sucked into the Rift. A few seconds later, Polly Turner stumbled into the bar, her eyes red and watery with desperation. She spotted her target quickly and rushed across the room.

“Nick!” she cried. “Oh, Nick, finally, I’ve found you.”

Nick Driscoll looked up from the bosom of the girl sitting next to him and blinked in surprise. “Sorry. Do I know you?”

“It’s me, Polly! From Hull! Don’t you remember? That night in Southwark, at The Royal Oak? You bought me one pint too many, and we . . .” she giggled shyly.

Driscoll frowned. “I’ve bought plenty of pints for pretty girls in my time,” he said.

“It was a magical night, Nick Driscoll, but oh, I had to pay the piper.” She pulled out the photo of Bernadette Samberly. “Isn’t she sweet? I named her Isobel, after my nan.”

Driscoll’s date craned her head to look at the photograph. “Oh, what a cute little girl!” she exclaimed. Then her expression darkened. “Wait . . . is she your daughter, Nick? Miss, are you saying you’re his wife?”

“Not yet, but I must be. My Da was so terribly angry, and he says that Isobel must have a proper father, and he’s threatened to put me and Isobel out of the house if I don’t find her Da and marry him. Oh, Nick, I beg you, for the sake of little Isobel!”

“Miss, I think you must –“

Driscoll got no further before his date huffed and threw her drink in his face. “Oh, is that your game? Love them and leave them? I got better things to do.” She turned to Peggy. “Good luck with him. But you make sure you have some money in an account of your own, hon. You can’t trust his type, and that cute tyke of yours deserves a good home.”

She aimed one last glare at Driscoll and stormed out of the bar. Driscoll wiped what smelled like a martini out of his eyes and turned on Peggy. “What was that all about?” he asked. “You have the wrong man. I’ve never seen you before in my life – oof!”

With enough force and intent behind it, a lipstick tube shoved into someone’s ribs could feel almost identical to a pocket revolver. Peggy smiled. “But you have seen some other very important people and things. Shall we take a walk?”

Peggy cuffed Driscoll and put a sleeping mask on him as a blindfold before she put him in the car. She drove him to a deserted cliff top near the Griffith Observatory where Jason had told her that courting couples went to park sometimes. She parked the car, transferred one of Driscoll’s cuffs to the handle above the passenger window, and removed his sleeping mask. Driscoll blinked a little and tried to get his bearings, while Peggy pushed the button that released the drinks tray. Instead of Howard’s preferred cocktail shaker, she had prepared a small Thermos flask.

“Cup of tea?” she asked Driscoll.

Driscoll’s face made expressions that told her what he really thought, but he was as British as she was, and what actually came out of his mouth was, “Oh, yes, thank you.”

Holding a hot drink calmed Driscoll down considerably, just as Peggy had hoped. He sipped the tea and eyed her suspiciously. “What was that all about, back in the bar?” he asked. “I know for a fact that I’ve never made anyone pregnant in a pub in Southwark. And I don’t know who that child is, but if she’s yours, then I’m Princess Margaret Rose. Who are you? Is Polly even your real name?”

Peggy shrugged. “Borrowed it from a school friend. You ought not to drink so much, you know. Interferes with your judgment.”

“I can handle it.”

“Could you handle it the night that you handed a very sensitive dossier to your old friend Jack Thompson?”

Driscoll went quiet for a long moment. “Ah. Jack. How is he these days?”

“Shot.”

Driscoll blinked. “Good Lord.”

“Over the very dossier that you put into his hands,” Peggy said. “It’s quite the piece of work. I want to know more about it.”

“Ah.” Driscoll sipped his tea. “You’ve seen it.”

“Briefly, yes.”

“Then you know that it is extraordinarily sensitive. I’m afraid I can’t give you much about it at all.”

Peggy huffed. “Oh, please. It’s a complete falsehood. If it were that sensitive, why on earth would you be carrying it whilst getting pissed with an acquaintance?”

Driscoll looked down into his tea. It was dark, but Peggy imagined that she could see him blushing. “I had it with me because I had been asked to deliver it to him. I was not told why he should have it, and I am certain that another man would have been tasked with retrieving it. The ‘getting pissed’ was an . . . unfortunate consequence.”

“Clearly.”

“As to the dossier,” Driscoll went on, giving Peggy a look that was entirely too stern for a man handcuffed to a car, “I can assure you that it is entirely genuine. As to who would want to shoot poor Jack over it – which I assume is why you and I are having this conversation – rest assured that the sheer number of people who might want the owner of that dossier dead is more than you could possibly imagine.”

Peggy decided she needed her own tea and took a sip straight from the Thermos flask. “Are you one of them?”

“No. But I know plenty of people who are, and I can’t say that I disagree with them. That dossier is a dangerous artifact, and it would be best for all concerned if it were to be returned to its rightful owners with all due haste.”

“And who are the rightful owners?”

“The War Office.” Driscoll finished the last of his tea and handed the cup to Peggy. “In spite of all the effort that you’ve made to bring me here, I am, in the end, just the courier. If you return me to the city, I am certain that I can find a taxi or a streetcar or some way of returning home, and I will not report you to the proper authorities.”

Peggy replaced the cap on the Thermos flask and folded the drinks tray back into its slot. “One more question and I’ll bring you back. Who asked you to deliver the dossier to Thompson?”

“My superior,” Driscoll said. “The American Department of War was involved, I believe.”

That meant Vernon Masters. It seemed that he had been trying very hard indeed to discredit her, if it meant going so far as to contact his British counterparts. For a moment, Peggy wished that Masters hadn’t died of Zero Matter exposure, so that she could have the pleasure of doing the deed herself. But it was no use dwelling on the past. She smiled at Driscoll. “That’s enough to go on, I suppose. Anywhere in the city, you said?”

She slipped the sleep mask back over his eyes, started up the car, and began to drive.

When Peggy reported her findings to Daniel the next morning, he gaped at her, and for a moment, she didn’t know if he was going to reprimand her or not. After a tense moment, he threw his head back and howled with laughter. “You have the most exciting night life,” he gasped, when he could speak again.

“It gets even more exciting when I’m a blonde,” she ventured.

Daniel’s laughter faded into a wry smile. “Don’t I know it. I think you’re on the right track about Masters, even if he is presumed dead.”

“Presumed?” Peggy said. “You saw that dump blow up. He couldn’t possibly have survived.”

“I never declare anyone dead until I see the body,” Daniel said. “I’ve met Jason Wilkes in several different planes of existence, after all. But you’re also right that we won’t be getting our chance to interrogate Vernon Masters any time soon. Do you think this is connected to that Council he was on?”

“The Council of Nine, or whatever number they’re down to, now?” Peggy shrugged. “We were trying to investigate them when Masters asked Thompson to discredit me. To draw attention away from whatever we might have found?”

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. “That does sound like how the upper crust think. Our social superiors, they call themselves, but they’re all a bunch of crooks and hypocrites in the end.”

Peggy smiled as she recalled sneaking newspapers as a girl to read the scandalous stories about the Prince of Wales and his various adventures. “You’re completely right.”

“It is now time for background research,” Daniel announced. “I figure we’ve only got one shot left at the Arena Club, if that’s where the Council is still meeting, if the Council still exists.”

“Oh, it exists. Groups like that don’t just go away.”

“Then we need to find out how many of them there are, who they are, and where their current clubhouse is,” Daniel said. “And we have to start thinking about how we might get in. We’re running a bit short of sufficiently white men they haven’t met yet.”

Peggy gave Daniel a significant look, but he only laughed. “Not me. Little Portagee boys from Fall River might get jobs in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes, but not once they’re grown up and can’t stand in front of a sink for six hours at a time.”

Peggy sighed. “Oh, well. We’ll find a loophole. There’s always a loophole when money’s involved.”

“I’ll look for one. Meantime, you keep trying to find out what that key unlocks. Bet you a dinner at a restaurant with actual tablecloths that you’ll find the dossier somewhere near it.”

“Actual tablecloths?” Peggy smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Daniel, you romantic.”

“It’ll give me an extra incentive to practice my dancing.” Daniel pushed himself to his feet, picked up his crutch and held it like a gentleman’s cane as he sang in his best imitation of Art Lund. “A small café, Mam’selle, our rendezvous, Mam’selle, the violins were warm and sweet –“

“Oh, stop it.” Peggy swatted at Daniel’s arm, but she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. Then an idea struck her. “What about the theater?” she asked.

Daniel slipped his arm back into his crutch. “What about it?”

Peggy took the notice that she had clipped from the newspaper as a reminder out of her handbag. “My friend Angie is in a show that’s opening at the Wadsworth Theatre tomorrow night. If I hurry, I might be able to get tickets for Sunday evening. Would you come with me?” She offered Daniel the clipping.

He looked at it thoughtfully. “This looks like the kind of show where it doesn’t matter what it’s about,” he said. “Angie . . . she was that girl at that ladies’ hotel, back in New York, back when –“

“Yes. The same.”

Daniel smiled. “She was good. I don’t think even the best Nazi could have made Thompson admit that he called his grandmother Gam-gam.” He considered for a moment, thumping his knuckles against his artificial leg. “Can’t be longer than a movie, right? I can sit in a theater seat for about a whole movie, but much more than that, and it gets uncomfortable.”

“If it comes to that, I think that they do have intervals at the theater.”

“Then let’s do it!” Daniel laughed. He pivoted on his crutch, picked up his desk telephone, and called the box office.

“Daniel!” Peggy whispered. “I can buy the tickets!”

“Too late,” he whispered back. “It’s ringing.”

A few minutes later, they had two seats reserved for the Sunday evening performance of _Three To Make Ready_. Daniel grinned at Peggy. “You and I will be stepping out on the town. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

He looked almost giddy with anticipation. Peggy found that she didn’t have it in her to scold him about wanting to go Dutch after all.

At the end of the day, Peggy kicked off her shoes, shoved some lingerie onto the floor, and flopped down onto the chaise longue. Her handbag fell down and spilled its contents all across her nice white slip and a new-ish brassiere. “Drat!” Peggy said, and rolled off of the chaise longue. The handbag had been getting overstuffed recently, and she had been meaning to clean it out, but somehow, she had never found a moment. She hoped that the revolver hadn’t stained her slip with oil.

She picked things up, put the revolver into its case in the drawer of her night table, and locked the Arena Club pin into her jewel box. As she did so, she was struck by how much the jewel box key resembled the Club pin key. Both were small and delicate, meant for delicate locks that were not terribly sturdy. The jewel box lock was more for the illusion of security than anything else; any truly determined thief could either wrench the box open without too much effort or simply make off with the entire box to break it open later.

Whatever lock the Arena Club pin opened was probably similarly flimsy. Its security would lie entirely in being hidden in plain sight. It would be the sort of lock that would proclaim in a suitably dainty manner that nothing of any importance could _possibly_ be hidden behind it, because that would be a patently foolish mistake. Peggy picked up the business card that Dottie had given her at the department store. “H. J.” had to be Hugh Jones, one of the few members of the Council of Nine who still lived.

Though she had almost no physical proof, Peggy was sure that Jones knew the lock that the Arena Club pin opened, and that the false dossier was kept behind that lock. She couldn’t risk going undercover to his office again, though, and she decided that she didn’t trust Dottie enough to sneak in and steal the dossier for her. She was just considering how else she might induce Jones to reveal the lock when Jarvis knocked on the door.

“Ever so sorry to disturb, Miss Carter,” he said, “but Mrs. Jarvis is conducting a small ceremony and requests your presence.”

“Of course.” Peggy accompanied Jarvis down the hall to the wing that he and Ana shared.

“It’s a short blessing for the Jewish Sabbath,” Jarvis explained. “Mrs. Jarvis is feeling well enough, and she asked us all to gather and join her.”

“Oh,” Peggy said. “Well, that’s an honor, then.”

Jarvis ushered her into their small private kitchen. Howard was already there, wearing a small skullcap that seemed to be made out of stiff suit lining. Steve had told Peggy what the cap’s proper name was, but she had forgotten it. Jarvis picked another one up from the table and settled it on his own head. Ana stood at the table, wearing a lovely drape of silk lace on her head. Two candles in tall silver candlesticks stood on the table in front of her, and a glass of wine, a small salt cellar, and what looked like a loaf of bread covered with a scarf sat nearby.

“Mrs. Jarvis has decided that she wants to make Shabbas,” Howard murmured.

“Are Mr. Jarvis and I allowed to be here?” Peggy asked. Her curiosity nearly balanced out her awkward sense of wrong-footedness at finding herself in one of the few circumstances where she had no idea how to behave.

“Sure. She’s asked you.” Howard grinned. “Just nod and smile and say ‘amen’ when I give you the high sign. You’ll do fine.”

Ana gave Howard a pointed look, and he fell silent. After a moment, Ana lit the candles and closed her eyes. She waved her hands above the candles, and chanted a little melody in a language that Peggy guessed must be Hebrew. More chanting accompanied a sip of wine and a little bit of soft, mildly sweet bread sprinkled with salt for everyone. When she had finished, Ana instructed everyone to sit down, and brought bowls of soup as a first course.

“That was lovely,” Peggy said. Now that she had seen the ceremony, she tried to imagine Steve as a boy taking part. Would his mother have worn such a pretty piece of lace on her head? Had Steve known just the right moment to say “amen?” She wished that she had asked him more about it . . . but of course, there had always been another time, until there wasn’t.

“I will try to do this more often,” Ana said. “My life has been saved twice now, so perhaps it is a sign that I should make Shabbas, like my mother.”

Howard spooned up his soup appreciatively. “If it comes with soup like this, I could even be convinced to dig out my nice velvet yarmulke. How’d work go today, Peg?”

Peggy let the warm, salty soup slide down her throat. She didn’t want to give away too many secrets, but she did mention her dilemma about the Arena Club, as well as her upcoming date at the theater with Daniel.

Ana laughed delightedly upon hearing about the date. “I will help you to find the perfect thing to wear!” she said.

“And I might have a few ideas to help with the Arena Club,” Howard offered. “There’s nothing I like more than twitting a bunch of stuffy old men who think they’re better than me.”

Jarvis disguised a laugh as a cough. Howard rolled his eyes. “Okay, Gene Tierny and twitting stuffy old men. But seriously, Peg. I have good ideas. In fact . . .” Howard thought for a moment. “I have just the thing. In fact, I have all the things. I have a house, a production company, a movie on the way, a beautiful staff of production assistants, and I’ve read _The Great Gatsby_. I think it’s high time that I threw a party for some of the high rollers out here. You let me know who you want on the guest list, and I’ll order the champagne.”

Peggy was certain that a plan like that was bound to cause more chaos than it would solve, but then again, it might shake things up a bit. She had also not missed the sparkle in Ana’s eyes as soon as she heard the word “party.” Perhaps it was time to give Howard his head and see what he could do.

Much later that evening, her mind whirling with party plans and her stomach stuffed with soup, chicken, carrots, bread, and cake, Peggy sat down and wrote a quick note to Angie.

_1 August, 1947_

_Dear Angie,_

_Howard assures me that the proper wish for an opening night is ‘Break a leg,’ so take it in that spirit. I have acquired tickets, and I will come to see the show on Sunday evening. I anticipate a great success for you._

_Yours,_

_Peggy_


	6. Seeing Stars

  1. **Seeing Stars**



_Agent Carter:_

_We know what crimes must surely be staining your conscience. As long as you remain quiet, the black horror of guilt will only eat at your own faint heart. Should you continue in your present pursuits, the shadow of your misdeeds will grow to consume all that you hold dear. Think well before you act again._

_A Friend_

As threats went, the neatly typed note that had been left in Howard Stark’s mailbox sometime after eleven on Saturday night was poetic, but it lacked a certain edge that would have made it really terrifying. The threat itself worried Peggy less than the fact that it had been hand-delivered. It wasn’t really a secret that she was a semi-permanent houseguest at Stark’s mansion, but the idea of someone finding his – or her – way onto the property and possibly managing to disturb or injure Ana Jarvis did give Peggy pause.

She showed the note to Howard as he was taking advantage of a quiet Sunday afternoon to sun himself in the garden, and Howard promised to look into increasing the security around his home the next day. Peggy doubted that anything truly serious would happen on a Sunday, so she agreed to the plan. But just in case, she dropped a hint to Ana that eyes were everywhere. Ana nodded sagely.

“I shall be alert,” she said. “I knew very well how to protect myself in the War.”

“I’m sure you did,” Peggy agreed.

Ana smiled. “Good. Now this is the best frock for the theater tonight, I think.” She held up a soft, simple gown of light, sky-blue silky rayon brocade. It had short tulip sleeves and a high, smocked waist. When Peggy tried it on, it flowed as she walked. The skirt was narrow enough that she would not want to wear the dress dancing, but it would do perfectly for the theater. She found a hat and a wrap to match it, and she had an evening bag covered in white glass beadwork that went with most of her nice gowns.

“This is perfect,” Peggy said, smiling at the ensemble laid out on her bed. “Now, I wonder about flowers. I want to get some for Angie. Actresses get flowers when they perform, I think? Do you know if that’s only on the first night?”

“People always enjoy flowers, on the first night and all the other nights as well,” Ana said. “I know just the shop.” She wrote down the name and address. “You can place them in the icebox until tonight.”

“Thank you, Ana.” Peggy took the flower shop recommendation and headed out to the car. As she pulled out into the street, she did not notice Ana picking up the telephone with a sly smile.

The florist’s shop was tiny, and absolutely filled with buckets of blossoms. Their scent was intense and heady, and seemed to waver between making Peggy want to run around and shout or making her need to lie down with a headache. The florist helped her choose a brightly-colored mixed bouquet of flowers that were suitably dramatic but sturdy enough to decorate Angie’s dressing room for at least a few nights. Peggy asked the florist whether it was better to give the flowers to an actress before the show or afterwards, but the florist didn’t know.

“The main thing is that you want to keep everything fresh and prevent it dripping on your clothes,” she said. She wrapped the stems of the bouquet in several layers of damp paper towels and then arranged a cellophane wrapper around the entire thing and tied it securely with a ribbon. It looked pretty, and Peggy couldn’t wait to see Angie again and give the bouquet to her.

Daniel had said that he would be by at seven. That was early enough that Peggy wouldn’t be able to have dinner with Howard, but Jarvis came to her rescue. At half past five, he produced a pot of tea, few small egg sandwiches, a pair of scones with butter, jam, and an apology for not having clotted cream in California, and a slice of a poppyseed roll that Jarvis said was Hungarian and had a name that he dared not try to pronounce. Peggy had not had a real afternoon tea in several years, and was delighted even without the clotted cream.

When the doorbell rang at seven, Peggy was ready to go in her blue gown, hat, and wrap. She went to open the door, but stopped to fetch Angie’s bouquet from the icebox, so Jarvis beat her to it. Ana trailed after him, claiming that she wanted to make sure that Peggy really was going on a date and not an undercover job. Howard joined them as well, drawn by the air of sociability. Jarvis opened the door to reveal Daniel, looking a little bit stunned at the welcoming party. After a moment, Daniel grinned.

“You’d think we were sixteen and I was picking you up for your very first school dance,” he said. Howard snickered. Daniel presented Peggy with a paperboard box that contained a lovely corsage of blue and white flowers. Ana pinned the corsage to Peggy’s dress at the shoulder and winked at Daniel. Peggy couldn’t decide whether she enjoyed all the fuss or not, and blushed deeply.

“Have her back by midnight,” Howard said with a waggle of his eyebrows. “It’s a school night, after all.”

Daniel laughed. “Yes, Pa!”

Even on a Sunday night, Los Angeles was busy, and it took Daniel a few passes around the block to find a parking space close enough to the theater. “This is why I wanted to pick you up early,” he explained.

The lobby was brightly lit and flashily decorated, and both Peggy and Daniel had to stop and get their bearings once they were inside. Peggy clutched the bouquet in one hand, not entirely sure what to do with it, as Daniel found the “Will Call” booth and went to pick up their tickets. Eventually, Peggy spotted a theater employee, dressed in a smart livery jacket, and asked him how people usually delivered flowers to actresses in the show.

“Who are these for?” he asked.

“Angie Martinelli,” Peggy answered, and then frowned. “Or should I use her stage name? It’s Angel Martine.”

“Ah, Angel” the theater man said. “I know exactly who you mean. Very friendly girl. I’ll take these right along, and I’ll be sure she gets them.” He took the flowers from her with a wink and a nod.

Daniel brought the tickets just as the theater man left, and the doors opened a little bit later. Peggy and Daniel each took a program and found their seats. Daniel had managed to get seats on an aisle so that he would have an easier time getting up. As he settled into his seat and arranged his leg and his crutch, Peggy opened her program. Toward the back, she found brief biographies of each of the performers. She read that Angel Martine was a student of Lee Strasberg and Stella Adler at the Dramatic Workshop and was excited to make her stage debut in _Three To Make Ready_. The rest of the program announced the cast performing each musical number, and it looked like Angie would be in some but not all of them.

The lights went down, the curtain went up, the audience applauded, and the overture began. For the next few hours, Peggy and Daniel lost themselves in the show. _Three To Make Ready_ turned out to be what the program called a “revue,” a series of short skits and musical numbers that were light and amusing. The humor was a little bit like the pantos that Peggy recalled from her childhood Christmases. The variety of skits made Peggy think of the music hall shows that Mummie and Daddy had occasionally attended while courting, and which they had sometimes described to Peggy and Michael.

Angie appeared to be having a wonderful time. She appeared as a dancer in a musical number about people partying at a seaside resort, and brought the house down as the wife in a skit about a leaking toilet tank. “Now I know why Angie wasn’t having any luck at auditions when I first knew her,” Peggy told Daniel during the intermission. “She was always trying to be dramatic, but it turns out she’s a born comedienne.”

“A born comedienne who can cry on cue,” Daniel reminded her. “The studios here would love her. Maybe you should get Howard Stark to put her in one of his movies.”

When the show was over, and Peggy and Daniel had cheered themselves hoarse, they waited for most of the audience to leave so that they could have a relatively clear path out of the theater. As they passed the edge of the building and glanced into the alley, they saw a small crowd of girls clustering around a plain door with a single dim light over it. “That’s the stage door,” an usher said, when Peggy asked about the crowd. “There’s always a bunch of stage-struck kids waiting out there for the actors to leave so they can ask for autographs.”

It was a warm, clear night – Los Angeles didn’t appear to have much variety in its weather – and Peggy hadn’t seen Angie for several weeks. Daniel mentioned that there was a perfectly good wall to lean against, and there were no other pressing demands on their time. So they joined the girls in the alley, realizing when they did that there were also several boys in the group. They passed the time until the door opened speculating quietly about whether the boys were also there to see the actors or whether they were simply there because their dates were.

The crowd started to cheer as the door opened and the first performers attempted to leave. Peggy was impressed; she thought that the actors must be exhausted after singing and dancing in such a lively show, but they greeted the crowd with impeccable grace. Some of them took advantage of their more popular castmates and snuck out behind them while the crowd was otherwise occupied. Far sooner than Peggy had anticipated, she heard a joyful cry of “Hey, English!”

With no more warning than that, Angie threw her arms around Peggy, wiggling with joy. “Oh, Peg, thank you so much for coming to see the show! And thank you for the flowers! When Gene brought them to the dressing room, it just made my night. They look so pretty, and I just knew it would be a good show tonight!”

Peggy was already smiling when Angie paused for breath. “Angie, you were wonderful! I’m so sorry I couldn’t make the first night.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. The first night was terrible. We’re going to get awful reviews, but I don’t care. It’s so good to see you again. You’ve been out here for so long that –“ Angie paused as she caught sight of Daniel. A knowing look spread across her face. “Oh. Oh! I see. Wait, I know you. You’re a federal agent or something like that. You came looking for Peg once. I guess you found her.”

Daniel removed his hat and extended his hand. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Daniel Sousa.” He and Angie shook hands, although it was lost on neither Angie nor Peggy that Daniel hadn’t identified himself beyond his name, and he had neither confirmed nor denied that he was a federal agent.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you for real,” Angie said.

“And it’s nice to see you act for real,” Daniel replied. “Seriously, from what I’ve seen, you’ve got talent.”

Angie laughed, and turned to Peggy. “Well, isn’t he a lulu, English? Seriously, you have to tell me what’s actually going on. Over lunch. And soon!”

“Of course.” Peggy smiled and clasped Angie’s hands.

Angie wriggled loose and wrapped Peggy in another hug. “I would just love to stay and chat with you for hours, but I am completely jazzed and completely exhausted. I’m going back to my hotel. But now that the show is up and running, I’ll have lunches free.”

They said their goodbyes, and another performer emerged from the stage door to collect Angie.

Back in the car, Daniel turned to Peggy with an impish smile on his face. “You up for capping off the evening?”

“A nightclub?” Peggy glanced down at her blue dress. “I’m not sure I’m really dressed for that.”

Daniel shook his head. “Not a nightclub. You’re not really dressed for what I have in mind, either, but it won’t matter. Want to find out?”

“All right. Lead on, driver!”

Daniel drove them about a mile away, to a late-night diner. Groups of boys and girls giggled together over hamburgers and Coca-Colas, and a few young couples made eyes at each other while sipping milkshakes. “Let’s have ourselves a root beer float,” Daniel said. He gestured at the other customers. “It’s the thing to do after a date these days.”

Peggy hesitated, unsure why she was suddenly a bit shy. “Ought we? It seems like this is something for young people.”

Daniel’s smile grew a bit more reflective. “We’re not actually that much older than they are,” he pointed out. “They just seem younger because they don’t have the Depression or the war to worry about.”

Peggy glanced at one young lady in a white cotton peasant blouse and a full plaid skirt with a flower in her hair. She thought of herself at a similar age, wearing a suit and reporting to Bletchley Park to take part in a vital war effort. “I went straight from school to code-breaking,” she said, half to Daniel and half to herself.

“And I spent my time working in factories to help put food on the table,” Daniel said. “We worked hard. Let’s be teen-agers for a night. We’ve earned it.”

He escorted her to a booth, and a waitress came to take their orders. It had been a while since Jarvis’s afternoon tea, and Peggy was hungry again. She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, and Daniel asked for a hamburger and something called a root beer float with two straws. When it arrived, it turned out to be a sort of ice cream soda. They sipped from the same glass, and the physical closeness made Peggy giggle, even though it turned out that she didn’t especially care for root beer. Daniel ended up drinking most of the float, while Peggy enjoyed her grilled cheese.

Daniel wolfed down half of his hamburger before coming up for air. He flashed a guilty smile at Peggy. “Sorry about that. I was so nervous about tonight that I couldn’t make myself eat anything, and I was just starving.”

“I wouldn’t have eaten, either, except that Jarvis made tea.”

Daniel chuckled. “Must be nice, having a real English butler around. Especially one who can transfer uranium rods as well as make tea.”

“Jarvis is a man of many talents,” Peggy said, taking a small, ladylike bite of grilled cheese.

“He sure is.” Daniel bit into his hamburger again. “Can I tell you a little secret? I’ve never been to a big fancy theater like that before. That’s why I was so nervous. I knew it was going to be a nice dress-up thing, and I wanted to do it right. I even called Stark’s place after Mass today to ask Mrs. Jarvis to tell me what color dress you’d be wearing so that I could get the right color corsage.”

Peggy couldn’t help herself, and burst out laughing. “Oh, Daniel! I can’t decide if that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, or the most wonderful.”

He reached across the table and took her hand, seemingly content just to hold it for a while. Peggy glanced away, hoping to hide at least a little of the odd feeling that swept through her at his touch.

“I suppose I ought to confess that I’ve never been much for the theater, either,” she said. “I went to the panto every year at Christmas, of course, but I never went to see plays just for leisure. The reason I wanted to see this show was that Angie was in it.”

Daniel slurped the last of the root beer and offered Peggy the glass and a spoon for the remainder of the ice cream. “I’m glad she was in it. She was good, and I enjoyed the show. It’s fun to do things you don’t usually do.”

“Agreed.” Peggy scooped up a half-melted bit of ice cream. “We should do more unusual things like this.”

She realized what she had said half a second after the words left her mouth, and she blushed. A shy smile spread across Daniel’s face. “I’d like that,” he said.

True to his word, Daniel dropped her off at Stark’s home near midnight. Peggy refused to let him walk her to the door, reminding him that they would see each other at work in a few hours. She took off her shoes at the door so that she could go in as quietly as possible, and was a little startled to hear what sounded like a baby cry.

“Sha, sha, my darling, it’s all right. Agent Carter has come home.”

Peggy saw a dim glow in the living room and went to investigate. Ana Jarvis sat in an armchair, holding a blanket-wrapped bundle on her lap. She spotted Peggy and waved her over. As she approached, Peggy saw that the bundle contained a fluffy, dark puppy with light brown markings, and a white face and chest. The puppy snuffled and let out a whine. Instantly charmed, Peggy offered her hand to the puppy. It sniffed her, and then licked her hand.

“Oh, she likes you!” Ana said. “This is Sadie. Edwin and Mr. Stark went to pick her up after dinner, while you were out. Edwin searched all over the city for her, and finally found a family that had puppies to sell.”

“She’s lovely.” Peggy scratched gently behind the puppy’s ears. “What’s the breed?”

“She is a Bernese mountain dog,” Ana said. “We had one when I was a girl, but the Nazis shot him. I have wanted another dog ever since then, and Edwin promised that he would find one for me.”

Peggy remembered Mummie’s border terrier, Alfie, who had been knocked down by a milk truck when Peggy was eight. Mummy had made noises about finding another dog, but somehow, none of the puppies she ever met quite measured up to the treasured memory of Alfie. “A good house needs a good dog,” she said.

Ana smiled and wrapped Sadie more securely in the blanket. “She is a little bit too young to leave her mother,” she told Peggy, “but Edwin and Mr. Stark insisted that she had to be picked up today. It will mean a little more work to care for such a baby puppy, but I will not mind it.”

Peggy gave Sadie a final good ear scratch, and bade Ana good night. She could guess why Ana was so happy to have such a tiny puppy, and she hoped that caring for Sadie would bring back some more of Ana’s joy.

The next morning, as she left for work, Peggy discovered the other reason that Sadie had been fetched so abruptly. Howard had indeed put some thought into increasing the security for the mansion. Pinned to the front gate was a temporary notice, written in Jarvis’s elegant script. It was clearly intended as a response to the death threat that had been delivered to the mailbox.

_To all who would consider harming the residents:_

_This house is under constant guard by faithful friends and electronic eyes. BEWARE OF THE DOG._

_The Management_


	7. Ladies' Things

  1. **Ladies’ Things**



_August 4, 1947_

_Dear Marge,_

_They’re kicking me out of the hospital today. It looks like I’ll live, so hooray for the docs. I’m not going back to New York yet, though. They’re sending me off to some other hospital for more poking and prodding. Technically, it’s for veterans who were wounded in the line, but they want to study me so they can learn something to help the other guys. I’ve asked Sousa to keep Flynn up to date. You’re still assigned to help him out here. This letter is just to let you know where I am, in case I can help you with any other business problems._

_Signed,_

_Jack Thompson_

The letter was folded around a business card giving the address of the Birmingham Veterans Administration Hospital in Van Nuys. It had been sent by messenger, and Peggy was amused to see that the envelope had been addressed to “Talent” Agent M. Carter. She put the business card into her handbag and made a note to go and pay Thompson another visit after he had settled into his new surroundings. It was still strange to think of him as paralyzed. Idly, Peggy wondered how the SSR could accommodate an agent with extensive field experience who would now be confined to desk duty. Would Thompson even be able to pass the annual firearms examination?

For a moment, Peggy allowed her thoughts to wander. Thompson had been a fine field agent, even if he had been a little too impressed at his own abilities. But he had also been ambitious, and it struck her that the SSR was, in the end, a limited organization. Thompson had been promoted to Chief of the New York bureau, but there was no other position he could fill. The SSR had field agents doing legwork and lab agents doing specialized research, but it seemed that the organization was missing a layer, a dedicated team of analysts who could connect the information that the two halves collected before it reached the bureau chief.

It was an interesting problem, and she would have to consider it further, but it wouldn’t be solved today. And there were problems that absolutely had to be solved today. Howard was gleefully moving ahead with the idea of throwing a large party to lure Hugh Jones and the rest of the Council of Nine survivors out into the open. When Peggy glanced through the open blinds in Daniel’s office, she saw that he was on the telephone, wearing the particular expression of puzzled agreement that he often used when speaking to Howard Stark. Clearly, serious party plans were being made.

Peggy’s task for the morning was to round out the guest list. She knew that Whitney Frost had killed several members of the Council of Nine, but she needed to find out which ones had survived. And that meant finding out who had been on the Council in the first place. Peggy glanced over at the file folder on her desk that was full of lists to be cross-referenced in the hope that they might yield some answers. She reached for the folder with a sigh, but then something else caught her attention.

It was today’s newspaper, which she had picked up on her way into the office. She had only glanced at the headlines before dropping it in favor of the letter from Thompson, but this wasn’t even one of the major items. It was a smallish article at the bottom of the front page. The headline read _Soviet Scientist Pardoned_. And just below the headline was a photograph of Johann Fennhoff.

Peggy took a deep breath and squashed the flame of rage that spurted up in her chest. She forced herself to read the article, and learned that Representative George Marmalard, a Republican from Orange County, had lobbied for Fennhoff’s full pardon and admission to United States government service as an adjunct to Operation Paperclip. There was no photograph to accompany the article, but that didn’t matter; the SSR had file cabinets full of dossiers on politicians. She found Marmalard’s file easily, and opened the folder. Sure enough, as she had suspected, there were several photographs of him.

Some of them appeared to have been taken during his latest Congressional campaign. They showed Marmalard standing tall and straight, not a hair out of place, his teeth gleaming. In some of them, Peggy could see his wife, Betty, looking demure in a suit, her shoes perfectly matched to her handbag. One or two even showed his son, Gregory, a preternaturally tidy little boy of about four or five. Finally, Peggy found what she was looking for.

The photograph had been taken at a V-J Day celebration at the Chinese Embassy in Washington. Representative Marmalard was shown grinning from ear to ear, shaking hands with an embassy official. The photographer had caught him at just the right angle and distance to highlight the distinctive stickpin in his lapel. Someone had written a note on the back of the photograph speculating that the pin might belong to the Omega Theta Pi fraternity, but Peggy knew instantly that that was wrong. It was an Arena Club pin.

A sitting member of the United States House of Representatives would be too rich a prize for the Council of Nine to resist. If Marmalard wasn’t already a member, he was surely in line for a membership, now that Whitney Frost had opened several seats. He certainly had to be on the guest list for Howard’s party. Peggy tucked the dossier under her arm and took it back to her desk.

By lunchtime, Peggy had a list of ten possible candidates for either current or potential seats on the Council of Nine. There were one or two whose credentials seemed more than a bit shaky, and Peggy wanted a better grasp on them before she presented her list to Daniel. But she clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere without a change of scene, so she decided to give her brain a break and go to her newly discovered luncheonette. She waved goodbye to Rose in the office downstairs and ducked a burst of flame from a fire-eater to get outside.

The day was warm, and Peggy reveled in the feeling of the sun on her face as she strolled along. Perhaps she would see Sonia at the luncheonette again. As unsettling as their conversation had been, Peggy found herself wanting more of it, wanting somehow to try to understand the evil that had ignited the war. She doubted that Sonia had all the answers, but perhaps she had a perspective that Peggy had missed.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a woman gagging, and then the distinct liquid _plop_ of vomit coming from a narrow alley between two buildings. Fearing that someone was in danger, Peggy hurried toward the sound, and saw a woman leaning over a garbage can, gasping for breath. “Are you all right?” Peggy asked.

The woman turned around, and Peggy saw that it was Dottie Underwood. She was so surprised to see Dottie in such a vulnerable position that she couldn’t speak for a moment. Dottie took advantage of Peggy’s momentary silence and arranged her face into a grotesque parody of her most innocent smile.

“Peggy!” she chirped, her voice still raw. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Clearly not,” Peggy managed. “What happened to you? Are you ill?”

“Now why would I think that you care?” Dottie shot back.

“I helped you avoid being executed.”

“That was because you needed my help.” Dottie’s smile almost looked like itself again. “You don’t understand, Peggy. I’m not a person that people care about.”

Peggy couldn’t argue with that assessment. “Fine. I won’t care, if it bothers you so much. But I am curious.”

Dottie nodded. “I just bet you are.”

Peggy and Dottie stared at each other for a few seconds, neither one daring to make a move. Finally, Peggy broke the stalemate. “I was on my way to lunch,” she said. “You don’t seem to be poisoned, or you wouldn’t be standing up right now. Do you want to come with me? You can at least have some water, even if food isn’t agreeing with you at the moment.”

Dottie shrugged, but followed Peggy out of the alley all the same.

Sonia was at the luncheonette, just as she had been before. She gave Dottie a hard glare, but said nothing to her as she put a large glass of ice water in front of her. Peggy ordered a ham and cheese sandwich, and was not surprised when Dottie refused anything but water.

“We’re going to find out what that key opens,” Peggy offered.

“Then you’ll be all caught up,” Dottie countered.

“You know what the lock is?”

Dottie shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The people who do know will give the information to the people who should know. It’s amusing to watch you try to disrupt that.”

“And what about you?” Peggy put her sandwich down so that she could look Dottie straight in the eyes. “You were eager to learn about that key a few days ago. What side do you think you’re playing?”

“My own.”

It was what Peggy had suspected, but she hadn’t expected Dottie to come right out and say it. “You’re defecting from Leviathan? Right here in a luncheonette?”

Dottie laughed. “Oh, Peggy. Don’t get your hopes up. Leviathan belongs to the past. I’m looking to the future.”

“In the Soviet Union? I can’t imagine that would be easy for you.”

“The FBI thinks so, too.” Dottie sipped her water. “They don’t know what I know. And the KGB also doesn’t know what I know. Useful information goes for good prices these days.”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed. “And what price are you asking for yours?”

“More than you could possibly afford.” Dottie gazed at Peggy with her particular wide-open expression that invited the world in but revealed nothing. “But I like you. You’re the second person who was ever nice to me.”

Dottie drained the rest of her water, set the glass down on the luncheonette counter, and tapped it with one perfectly manicured fingernail. Peggy looked from the glass to Dottie’s face. “Who was the first?”

Dottie shook her head. “You don’t get that. Here’s what you get. American princelings and titans of industry think that they can be trusted with secrets, but they’re wrong. All it takes is a night with a willing woman, and they give up the keys to the kingdom.”

Peggy frowned. “I know you slept with Howard Stark. Is there someone else I don’t know about?”

“Peggy. Don’t be stupid. There are lots of people you don’t know anything about. Try to keep up.”

Peggy repressed a groan. She had walked into that one. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“The jeweler and his golden boy. Men will give me any secrets I want just to get what they want. And they have what you want. You just have to find it. But don’t be careless about it.” Dottie wrapped her arm around her body and swallowed hard as a strange expression passed over her face.

In a flash, Peggy realized what Dottie’s problem was. “You’re pregnant.”

“Not for long.” Dottie’s expression hardened. “I know what to do.”

“And one of them is the father. Jones or Marmalard?”

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll never see it.” Dottie’s eyes looked like ice now. “That was a flaw in my training. I’m going to fix that. And then I’m going to fix a few other things. My country might not want me back, but I’m not going to give them a choice. They’ll dance to my tune.”

With that, Dottie got up from the luncheonette counter. “Don’t look for me again,” she said. “When I want you to see me, you will.” She turned and made her way to the door. But just as she reached it, she stopped, her hand on the glass panel. She looked over her shoulder at Peggy, who still sat at the counter, digesting what she had learned. Dottie put a hand protectively over her abdomen.

“Anya,” she said, and walked out of the luncheonette.

Peggy ordered a cup of very strong coffee to fortify her before she went back to work.

When Peggy arrived back at the SSR, Daniel and a group of agents were just finishing their lunch, sitting around the conference table. “Basic training, bomb disposal training, SSR training, but none of it included party planning!” Daniel said, and the male agents laughed.

“Then perhaps we ought to consider adding a course in home economics to the SSR training schedule,” Peggy said, in lieu of announcing her presence. She had meant it as a simple quip, but even as the words left her mouth, it struck her that it wasn’t a bad idea at all. That was what the SSR needed. Dedicated analysts, a truly broad spectrum of training in all aspects of life . . . a few simple changes could transform the agency and make it something truly special . . .

“Hey, Peggy!”

Peggy blinked, and Daniel laughed. “You got a bit lost in your head there,” he said.

“That time of the month?” one of the male agents muttered to another, just loud enough to carry. The other agent snickered.

Daniel didn’t miss a beat. “And that’s a month of desk duty for Agent Lampert for making that crack, and three weeks of lunch-order duty for Agent Hoover for laughing at it. Agent Carter, do you have anything for me?”

Peggy smiled. “I think I might have the guests of honor.”

“Excellent. I’ve been in touch with Howard Stark and the LAPD. This is going to be quite the shindig.” Daniel pushed himself to his feet and headed across the bullpen to his office, gesturing with his head that Peggy should follow him. “Who gets the engraved invite?”

“Hugh Jones, of course.”

“Figures.” Daniel nodded and checked a list. “I already have his name down. Honestly, Roxxon has been involved in so much shady stuff that I’m just about tempted to sic the IRS on them.”

Peggy choked out a startled laugh. “The IRS? Roxxon took part in the theft of Howard Stark’s inventions and the release of Zero Matter, and you want to bring them in on _tax fraud_?”

“Hey, if it worked for Capone . . . anyone else we want to look at?”

“George Marmalard.”

Daniel stared at her for a moment, his face blank with surprise. “As in, The Honorable George Marmalard, United States House of Representatives?”

“And his wife, of course. I believe her name is Betty.”

Daniel nodded, his face still blank. “All right, then. I trust you. Do you have a suggestion for how to play this?”

Peggy considered what she had learned from Dottie. “Both Jones and Marmalard seem to have a weakness for pretty young women. Howard is sure to have an adequate supply.”

“I’ve met them,” Daniel said. “They’re pretty enough, but they’re not you or Rose. We need someone else if we’re going to set a honey trap. You got another nice party dress?”

Peggy sighed. “I can’t do it. Jones already knows who I am. He’d suspect something. We need someone who’s pretty enough to attract Jones and Marmalard, smart enough to know what to do with them, and a good enough actress to play it off. There are simply not enough women in the SSR!” She blew out a sigh of frustration.

Daniel opened his mouth to reply, but his desk telephone rang. He picked it up. “Sousa. Oh. Well, can’t you – oh. I see. How did she – never mind. Tell her to wait there. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and looked at Peggy. “Rose called. Apparently there’s someone downstairs we need to see.”

To Peggy’s great surprise, Angie Martinelli was waiting in the lobby of the Auerbach Theatrical Agency when she and Daniel made it downstairs. Angie’s face broke into a broad grin when she saw Peggy. “I knew it!” she cried. “I knew I’d find you here! And with Mister Federal Talent Agent, too.”

“She walked right in here and asked for _Mrs_. Auerbach,” Rose said. “They don’t usually do that.”

Daniel shook his head. “Don’t worry, you did the right thing, calling me.”

“How did you find this place?” Peggy asked Angie.

Angie actually rolled her eyes at her. “It’s a talent agency, Peg. You think showbiz people don’t know that? When you showed up at the theater the other night, everybody was buzzing about it. I asked them what was up, and they said that they couldn’t believe that Mr. Auerbach had actually brought a date to see a show.”

Peggy glanced at Daniel. “They recognized him?”

“Of course!” Angie snorted. “Everyone says that the Auerbach Theatrical Agency is the nut to crack in town. They hardly take anybody, so everyone says that you have to be the absolute best. And Mr. Auerbach is a handsome dark man who walks with a crutch. Norma, she’s the local swing understudy, she says that sometimes you see Mr. Auerbach showing up for work or going out to lunch. And then to see him actually turn up at a show! Well, everyone was buzzing, and I peeked from the wings, and imagine my surprise when I saw who Mr. Auerbach and his date really were. I figured something had to be going on, so I decided to come audition.” She shrugged, and folded her arms across her chest.

Peggy and Daniel looked at each other. A wild idea sprang into Peggy’s mind, and she suspected that Daniel might be thinking about something similar. After all, Angie was beautiful, a good enough actress to cry on cue, and she had been smart enough not only to find the Auerbach Theatrical Agency, but also to realize that it was a front.

“You trust her?” Daniel asked softly.

“With my life,” Peggy replied.

“That’s good enough for me,” Daniel said. He turned to Angie. “Miss Martinelli, can you keep a secret? And I don’t mean just gossip. Serious, national-security kind of secrets.”

Angie studied him for a moment. “Yes. I can do that.”

“All right.” Daniel offered her his hand. “Then let’s go upstairs and talk. I’ve seen your work. We have a very specialized acting job, and you might just be right for it.”

Angie shook Daniel’s hand. He and Peggy escorted her through the hidden door that led to the SSR.

Two hours later, Angie had been deputized as a temporary SSR agent, and Peggy was convinced that Howard Stark’s party would either be the greatest success the agency had ever had, or that several of her dearest friends would be dead by the time the evening was out. Rose had taken Angie away to be fitted with a party dress and bugged jewelry. Daniel was talking to Howard on the telephone, making adjustments to the choreography of the party. Peggy had a stack of party invitations to address. They would go out with the evening’s mail.

Peggy wrung out her hand, which was cramping from addressing so many tiny envelopes, and decided that she needed a little break. She took out a larger sheet of paper and began to write on it, allowing her hand to move the pen freely.

_5 August, 1947_

_Dear Chief Thompson,_

_Thank you for keeping us apprised of your location. Chief Sousa assures me that the quality of care in the Birmingham Veterans Administration Hospital is of the highest calibre. We can only hope for the fullest recovery possible for you. Don’t be surprised if you see a police guard when you arrive. We are very near to discovering the identity of your assailant, and we hope to avoid exposing you to any unnecessary trouble as we apprehend him._

_With all best wishes,_

_(Talent) Agent Peggy Carter_


	8. The Reeling Midnight Through

  1. **The Reeling Midnight Through**



_WESTERN UNION_

_MISS P CARTER_

_AUERBACH TALENT AGENCY LOS ANGELES CA_

_RECEIVED DETAILS OF STARK SOIREE ANTICIPATING HOT TIMES WIRE IMMEDIATELY WITH TALENT NEWS_

_JOHN FLYNN_

Peggy tucked the telegram into her handbag and slung the handbag over her arm as she carried a box of sandwiches out to the carriage house where she and Daniel would wait out Howard Stark’s party. Howard had been less than impressed with the surveillance van they had used at Calvin Chadwick’s fundraiser, pointing out that, while such a van could be expected on a street in the city, it would look entirely out of place lurking on his estate. Instead, he had modified the radio in his old Duesenberg to pick up transmissions from Angie’s bugged paste necklace. Daniel had been a little bit worried about the damage to the car, but Howard shrugged it off.

“Ah, it’s ten years old anyway,” he said. “Still runs like a dream, but it’s dated. You have this one, and I’ll drive something sleeker and more modern.”

As Peggy approached the carriage house, she caught sight of Daniel sitting in the driver’s seat of the Duesenberg, one hand on the steering wheel and the other running appreciatively over the polished dashboard fittings. The look on his face was that of a man deeply in love, and Peggy hung back a little bit. Daniel pressed a few buttons, rubbed his fingertips on the soft leather seats, blinked the lights, and adjusted the mirrors. Finally, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands, wiggled it back and forth, and made “ _vroom, vroom_ ” noises under his breath.

Peggy couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled out of her upon hearing that. Startled, Daniel pulled his hands away from the wheel and tried to look bored. “It’s a good car,” he said, his voice only squeaking a little. “Stark says its pickup speed is the best in his collection, so if we need to chase anyone down . . . something funny?”

Completely against her will, Peggy dissolved into laughter. “No, no,” she gasped. “It’s just . . . you work at the SSR, you’ve used a gamma cannon and the Rift Generator, and you’re all caught up in a ten-year-old car!”

Daniel laughed as well. “Peggy. This is not just any ten-year-old car. This is a 1937 Duesenberg Model SJ. One of the best racing engines in the world. I used to drool over photographs of this car when I was a kid. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d get to touch one, let alone work in it!”

Peggy imagined Daniel at seventeen or eighteen, taking a break from his job at the tire factory, leafing through a magazine filled with glossy photos of cars he could never hope to afford. Something about that image filled her with warmth. “All right, then,” she said, tucking the sandwiches in the back seat of the car. “You keep that seat. If Jones or Marmalard leaves the property with Angie, you can indulge your youthful fantasies and give chase.”

Daniel folded his hands below his chin and rolled his eyes up. “Angie Martinelli of Blessed Agent-hood, I pray that you lure the bad guys to their lair tonight so that we can follow!”

Peggy laughed, and returned to the house to fetch Thermos flasks of water and orange juice.

At precisely eight o’clock that evening, everything was ready at Howard Stark’s mansion. Jarvis had trays of elegant finger foods lined up with military precision in the kitchen, ready to be distributed by Rose Roberts and a few of LAPD’s finest police matrons, immaculately turned out in black dresses and starched white aprons. Angie Martinelli and a crowd of “production assistants” waited in the garden, their gowns and jewels sparkling in the light of strategically placed torches and braziers. Howard Stark waited just inside the house, dressed in his sleekest tuxedo. Even Sadie had been shampooed and brushed to fluffy perfection for the occasion.

A few minutes after eight, the guests began to arrive. From their vantage point in the carriage house, Peggy and Daniel could see movie stars, studio executives, businessmen, fashion models, and local politicians climbing out of chauffered cars and streaming through the gate. They were so entranced by the spectacle that they nearly missed the moment when Hugh Jones strutted through the gate, followed a few minutes later by Representative Marmalard, his wife Betty a vision in pink on his arm.

Rose and the police matrons circulated, offering glasses of champagne. The delicate sounds of a string quartet wafted through the air from speakers cleverly hidden in the foliage. The microphones in Angie’s necklace picked up music and chatter as she and the production assistants made small talk to break the ice between the other guests. As soon as everyone had been greeted and supplied with champagne, the sound of the string quartet faded a little bit. Peggy pictured Jarvis hurrying to the pre-arranged spot with the remote control that would trigger one of Howard’s more successful inventions. She counted down the seconds in her head.

Precisely on cue, several small fireworks went off, highlighting the raised verandah where Howard Stark made his triumphant appearance. The delighted guests applauded, and Howard basked in their adulation for a few seconds.

“Welcome!” he said, as the last of the fireworks fizzled away. “I’m Howard Stark, owner of Stark Pictures, and your host for the evening. Tonight, we celebrate the wrapping of principal photography on our new Western extravaganza, _Kid Colt_. It’s a daring adventure that I hope will be the first of many. You’re all invited to come along for the ride!”

Another round of fireworks went off, and the guests applauded again. Howard descended the stairs to join his guests, and the music emanating from the hidden speakers changed to big-band jazz – Duke Ellington’s band, Peggy thought.

She and Daniel ate sandwiches and drank orange juice from Thermos flasks as they watched Stark’s party guests nibble on canapés and sip champagne. Angie floated through the party in a full-skirted strapless gown of silver satin and tulle, her arms encased in long white satin gloves, sparkling in her bugged necklace with earrings to match. She worked her way over to Betty Marmalard, complimenting Mrs. Marmalard’s pink dress, shawl-collared and much more conservatively cut than her own. Betty Marmalard blushed and smiled and simpered about how exciting it was to get to know a real actress – she usually only met other political wives at dear George’s social occasions.

“I could tell that Angie was good,” Daniel breathed. “But this – she is playing that woman like a violin.”

Peggy smiled, wondering if a mother would feel this way about her child just beginning to walk. “It’s clever of her to start with Marmalard’s wife. You didn’t tell her to do that, did you?”

Daniel shook his head. “I just showed her photographs and told her to get them into a conversation.”

They watched as Betty Marmalard introduced Angie to George Marmalard. Angie kept the conversation light and familiar, hinting at flirtation without quite going over the edge. Peggy was impressed; she knew how Angie felt about men in general, and about powerful men in particular. As they had hoped, Hugh Jones appeared at the edge of the little group, curious to meet the beautiful young lady who had caught Marmalard’s eye.

With a subtlety that surprised Peggy, Jones gradually maneuvered himself so that he stood with his arm around Angie’s waist, separating her from George Marmalard, but leaving her free to converse with Betty Marmalard on her other side. The carriage house was too far away from the party for Peggy to make out the expression on George Marmalard’s face, but there was a tightness in his transmitted voice that made her think that he was covering up annoyed exasperation. 

Angie immediately “noticed” Hugh Jones’s unusual, sparkling lapel pin, and asked him about it. Jones told her that it was his club pin, and bragged that he was a powerful man, of far more consequence and influence than Howard Stark; not that ol’ Howie was a bad person, mind you, just limited in his imagination. With Stark, you’d get raw, uncontrolled genius, while Jones could offer serious industry and an entrée into real society. Angie giggled, but offered no other commentary. Peggy blew an exasperated sigh at Jones’s bloviating.

The corners of Daniel’s mouth quirked into something that was almost a smile. “He’s not exactly wrong, you know,” he said. “Evil, and possibly a traitor to the United States, but not a hundred percent wrong.”

“Oh, do your job.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Daniel picked up the miniaturized microphone and clicked the button on what used to be the radio to tune in to the transmitter hidden behind Howard Stark’s ear. “Jones is almost out the door. Get in position and do your thing.”

“Roger that.”

Just as Jones began to put some serious moves on Angie, Howard glided over to Betty Marmalard. “I make it my mission in life to dance with as many of the beautiful ladies at my parties as possible. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure yet. Shall we?” Mrs. Marmalard seemed to agree with Howard, and he swept her off into a foxtrot, right there on the lawn.

In her breathiest voice, Angie asked Hugh Jones about his club. He lamented that women were not allowed inside – with the occasional exception of Howard Stark’s vulgar forays – but that he could show her an equally good time in a much more private and intimate locale. Angie made appreciative noises and allowed Jones to lead her away. Jones glanced over his shoulder at Marmalard before they left.

Daniel started the car, but did not turn the headlights on.

Marmalard stayed at the party just long enough to help himself to another drink and a canapé from Rose’s tray. He glanced at his wife, still foxtrotting with Howard Stark, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and moved swiftly toward the gate.

“He’s just going to leave his wife there?” Peggy hissed. “Wanker.”

Daniel patched in to Howard’s transmitter again. “He’s abandoned her. If you need to call her a cab, the SSR will reimburse you.” He glanced over at Peggy, and she nodded, mollified for the moment.

Marmalard walked over to the parking area where the few guests who had driven themselves had left their cars. Angie and Jones sat in the back seat of a cream-colored Cadillac. Jones had been whispering sweet nothings in Angie’s ear, but he sat up when he saw Marmalard. Marmalard got into the driver’s seat. “The Roosevelt Hotel, driver,” Jones said.

Peggy radioed for LAPD backup to meet them at the hotel. The cream-colored Cadillac pulled out of the driveway. Daniel counted to ten and then followed in its wake.

The microphone in Angie’s necklace was sturdy, and all the way to the hotel, Peggy could hear Angie giggling and shifting against Hugh Jones as she pretended that she had been drinking champagne all evening instead of seltzer. Jones really had been drinking champagne, and from Angie’s occasional yelp, Peggy guessed that the alcohol was encouraging Jones’s hands to roam. Her jaw clenched in sympathetic anger, and she reminded herself that Angie was not, in fact, a naïve, drunken admirer, but a confident actress who had planned with Daniel what to do in this exact situation. And, Peggy reminded herself, Angie wasn’t truly alone with Jones and Marmalard. She and Daniel and the LAPD were hot on their trail.

Even so, it took every bit of patience that Peggy had to sit silently and not scream with frustration while listening to the rustling sounds of Jones pawing at Angie’s clothing as Marmalard drove them to the hotel and checked them into a room.

Daniel counted to twenty, and sent a team of plainclothes LAPD detectives to wait in the hallway just outside the room. Peggy popped the Duesenberg’s modified radio out of its housing and slipped it into her handbag. She tuned the microphone embedded in one of her earrings. There was a burst of static, but then Angie’s voice resumed.

“Jeepers, this room is the cat’s meow! It’s really swell of you to bring me here, Mr. Jones.”

She nodded at Daniel to assure him that the radio was still working, and then took Daniel’s arm. They strolled into the hotel. Daniel turned on his charm and spun a tale for the desk clerk about how he and his new bride had just arrived in town after eloping and needed a nice room, nothing too fancy, mind you, but a nice place to get their feet under them for a few days, and this was the first hotel they’d seen, and could the desk clerk see her way clear to helping them out? Peggy smiled and batted her eyelashes, and the clerk’s face seemed to melt.

“Oh, Mr. Jones,” Angie’s voice came over the transmitter. “Ooh! Well, if that’s on your mind, let’s make you more comfortable. I think this jacket can go . . . oh! I’m so sorry! I think I broke your lovely club pin.”

“Oh no, my dear,” came Jones’s voice. “You’ve just unlocked its little secret. See? Twist it this way.”

Daniel offered Peggy his elbow and guided her out of the lobby, allowing her to concentrate on the drama unfolding over the transmitter.

“Is it the key to your heart?” she heard Angie ask.

Jones’s answering chuckle sounded like static. “Something even better – oh, keep doing that! A man’s club is his second home, you know. Georgie here wants to know all about that, don’t you, Georgie? Come here, Georgie. Let her sit on your lap.”

An elevator arrived, and Daniel and Peggy boarded it. Daniel pressed the button for the fifteenth floor. The elevator interfered with the transmission, but Peggy could still make out a few words through a haze of static.

“Mr. Jones, I . . . Hugh, what are you . . . oof! . . . want to know? . . . only the poor deal in money . . .”

The elevator doors opened on the fifteenth floor. Daniel and Peggy hurried off. Peggy crouched just outside the room where Hugh Jones had taken Angie and George Marmalard. Daniel motioned to the detectives to be ready.

At some point during their elevator ride, the atmosphere in the hotel room had grown ugly. Jones was shouting at both Angie and Marmalard, Angie was spitting back, and Marmalard was doing his best to calm both of them down.

“You want to know?” Jones roared. “You want to know so bad? You want to know what lock this key fits? I’ll show you!” There was a thump and a ripping sound, and then a blow was struck. Daniel grabbed Peggy’s wrist and held tight.

“You little minx. Why is it so hard to get what I want? I wanted that little SSR turncoat dead, and he’s still alive. You want to be my next golden boy, Marmalard? You’ll have to do better than Jack Thompson. As for you, missy –“

“Tear my dress again, and I’ll tear something else off of you!”

“Oh, you think you have any leverage to threaten me? What are you, just some jumped-up broad in a fancy gown? Do you have any idea who I am? You think I’m just the might behind Roxxon Energy? You have no idea what kind of trouble that little key you’ve got can bring down on your head.”

Another blow landed, accompanied by a low grunt and some scuffling.

“Mr. Jones, perhaps some discretion?” Marmalard sounded terrified. “If the hotel manager gets a complaint . . .”

“Shove it where the sun don’t shine, Marmalard. You want to be on the Council? You want to know what real power is? Watch this whore’s face when I tell her that I can take that key, unlock the finest painting in the Council board room, and release all the secrets that will ruin everyone else in this town, including that _pimp_ Howard Stark!” Another blow landed, and there was a scream.

Peggy’s head snapped up. “That’s it!” she cried. “We’ve got him. The key and the attempt on Thompson’s life.”

Daniel let go of Peggy and waved at the detectives. “Go, go, go!”

The burliest of the detectives put his shoulder to the door and popped it open. The team swarmed into the room, with Peggy hot on their heels. Daniel brought up the rear, reading the arrest charges for Jones and Marmalard as the detectives subdued and handcuffed them. Peggy ignored all of them and raced to Angie’s side.

Angie’s skirt was torn in the front, almost all the way up her thigh. Her makeup was smeared, and her hair was mussed. One of her shoes was broken, the heel nearly snapped in two. She was shaking out her hand and wore an enormous grin on her face.

“Oh my God, English!” she cried. “I actually did it! I actually kicked a guy right in the rocks! Well, I tried. My heel caught on his knee. But then I punched him in the nose.”

“Angie, are you all right?” Peggy asked.

Angie shrieked with laughter. “I feel _great_!” she said. “My hand is a little sore, but who cares? I actually got to punch out a guy harassing me on the job. Is this how you feel all the time? I cannot believe you kept this secret from me. It feels so good! Well, except for my hand. But whoa nelly!”

Daniel signed off on the arrest of Marmalard and Jones and came to see to Angie. He observed that her hand was bruised from connecting with Jones’s jaw, and Angie made Peggy promise to teach her how to punch correctly next time. Angie was still chattering as Daniel called down to the desk and asked the hotel matron to send up a robe and slippers so that they could take Angie back to her hotel.

“And Norma was so excited for the chance to go on as my understudy tonight,” Angie said. “She thinks she had an exciting time, she has no idea what I did tonight!”

Peggy took a deep breath. “You know that you can’t just go and tell everyone about this. Daniel or I or the police or, I don’t know, perhaps some lawyers would have to clear it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, English,” Angie said. “My lips are sealed. I mean, who’d believe it anyway? None of the other girls in the show, that’s for sure. They all think that I used my free night pass to go lie on a casting couch.”

That startled a laugh out of Peggy. “Well, you never know. I could put in a good word for you with Howard. Maybe he might find a role for you in whatever his next film adventure will be.”

“I’d better be leading lady and have lots of action,” Angie said. “I’d be fantastic at that!”

“You would be brilliant,” Peggy said. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Angie. “You were fantastic tonight. And I am so happy that you’re safe.”

The aftermath of any arrest involved paperwork, and the aftermath of arresting Hugh Jones and George Marmalard involved even more paperwork than normal. Judges were woken for warrants, the SSR and the LAPD had to negotiate who got to do what, and Howard Stark called just after two in the morning to ask where he should send Betty Marmalard now that his party was winding down. Daniel hastily assembled a team to raid the Arena Club as soon as the freshly-signed warrant landed on his desk.

Peggy and Daniel and the SSR team raided the Arena Club just before dawn. No one was there to stop them, though Daniel kept the warrant in his breast pocket just in case. Peggy led the team through the secret door into the chamber where the Council of Nine met. A large, unremarkable oil painting of a landscape hung on the wood-paneled wall at the far end of the Council table. On one side of the edge of the frame, Peggy found a tiny slot. She twisted Jones’s Arena Club pin to reveal the key, inserted it, and gave it a delicate twist. Something clicked, and the painting swung out on hinges, revealing a chamber that had a sturdy, substantial iron safe inside.

SSR Agent Ryan brought out his safe-cracking kit and set to work. Twenty minutes later, he finished picking the lock and opened the safe. Inside was a box filled with files. Daniel began to flip through them, and his face paled.

“All right,” he said. “We’ve hit the jackpot. We need to seal this box and take it back to the office. We’ll need help sorting it. Agent Carter, wire Acting Chief Flynn at the New York office and ask him to send out three agents, the most senior the SSR has.”

Peggy frowned. “All right. But what’s in there? Wouldn’t it be faster if we sorted it ourselves instead of waiting for more people?”

“What’s your clearance level?” Daniel asked.

“Secret.”

Daniel shook his head. “So’s mine. It’s not good enough. Just from a glance at this, I think it’s probably Top Secret stuff. I might be able to get a temporary Top Secret clearance as the branch chief to help the senior people make sense of what they find, but I don’t think I can get one for you.”

Peggy opened her mouth to protest, but Daniel came to her side and took her hand. “I promise I will tell you if there’s anything in there that you need to know about,” he said.

She took a deep breath. Daniel was her friend, and possibly more than that. He had risked his life for her, and she had done the same for him. She could trust him. “All right.”

He smiled at her. “You were amazing on this case. Go wire Flynn and then go get some sleep. You’ve earned it.” He didn’t kiss her, not in front of all of the other SSR agents, but there was a spark in his eyes that told Peggy that he really wanted to do just that.

_WESTERN UNION_

_MR J FLYNN_

_NEW YORK BELL COMPANY_

_STARK SOIREE STRUCK GOLD SEND THREE TS MEN TO APPRAISE_

_P CARTER_


	9. Doors and Windows

  1. **Doors And Windows**



_3 August, 1947_

_Dear Peggy,_

_Mummie and I await your next letter eagerly. I wanted to write anyway. Mummie is lying down with a headache at the moment – you know how Michael’s birthday has been a trial to her ever since we received the news, and she misses both of you terribly. I am sure she told you that we are free to travel now, so we are both finding little economies so we can save the money to come and visit you. I hope that you are well in the States. Mummie and I attended a small dinner for the American Ambassador, a Mr Douglas, last night. It’s silly, but it almost made me feel that I was with you in an odd sort of way._

_Counting the days until your next letter._

_Love,_

_Daddy_

Even sending the news by telegram, it took a few days for Acting Chief Flynn to round up three senior SSR men with Top Secret clearance and send them to Los Angeles. Until they arrived, most of the Los Angeles agents formed a tacit agreement that they were on semi-vacation. The bare minimum of work was done, and Daniel was happy to approve early quitting times and a mildly relaxed dress code. Anyone being questioned by the LAPD or the lawyers working for Jones and Marmalard had to dress properly, but beyond that, informality was the rule of the day.

Peggy paid a visit to the LAPD to deliver her own statement about the events surrounding Howard Stark’s party, and she followed the case closely in the newspapers. Jones was indicted for embezzlement, tax fraud, and attempted rape by the state of California, and the FBI let it be known that they reserved the right to add federal charges pending the SSR’s examination of the contents of the Arena Club vault.

The evidence for the embezzlement and tax fraud charges came largely from George Marmalard, who had struck a deal with the prosecutor and would not be charged. Peggy went livid when she read about that in the newspaper, and promptly drove to Van Nuys to visit Thompson. She found him in the dayroom of the VA hospital sitting up in a wheelchair after a session of galvanic therapy to stimulate circulation in his legs.

“Marge!” he said, offering a weary smile. “I knew you’d find your way out here eventually. I’ve got a little time before I have to be at occupational therapy. Learning to do all sorts of things with my hands. Can you believe it?”

“How are you holding up?” Peggy asked.

Thompson shrugged. “Some days are better than others,” he admitted. “Some mornings I wake up and I just want to hop out of bed, and then . . . I can’t. The docs say I have to learn to deal with that.”

Peggy thought about Ana Jarvis, and Sadie, and the Sabbath candle-lighting ceremony she had witnessed. She wondered what Thompson might have to help soothe the less rational parts of himself. Well, she couldn’t help with that, but she did have one thing that she could offer him.

“We think we found the man who shot you,” she said.

Thompson looked at her strangely for a moment. “Okay, I’ll bite. Do I know him?”

Peggy thought for a moment. “Likely not, unless you’re familiar with California political figures. It was George Marmalard, of the House of Representatives.”

“That so?” Thompson looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be incredulous, impressed, or both. “Vernon Masters said he wanted me in politics. Not sure he meant like that.”

Peggy was entirely sure that Vernon Masters would have approved of Marmalard’s little adventure, had he known. But she kept that to herself. “There’s no physical proof, of course,” she said. “Nothing that he can be tried on, anyway. But the way the investigation is going . . . it was him. We can’t prove it, but he did it.”

Thompson snorted. “So he’ll get away with it. Well, I won’t vote for him. Why did he do it? I’d never done anything to him. I didn’t even know who he was.”

“He wanted a seat on the Council of Nine, one of the vacancies that Whitney Frost made available,” Peggy said. “Hugh Jones wanted the dossier back and charged Marmalard with retrieving it by any means necessary. To go right through you, if he had to.”

“Clearly he felt that he had to.” Thompson frowned as he considered this news. “I have to think about this for a while. I’m stuck in a chair for the rest of my life, all because this slimy fat-head wanted into the big boys’ clubhouse. What did they want with that stupid dossier anyway?”

“Just what Masters told you,” Peggy said. “They still thought it could be used to discredit me. Apparently, they thought I was close to discovering their little stash.”

Thompson gave a bitter laugh. “That’s an awful lot of trouble to take for a dossier that you keep telling me is fake. Have you figured that out yet?”

Peggy shook her head. “There are senior agents with senior security clearances looking through it right now. Daniel – Chief Sousa has promised to tell me what he can once they finish.”

“Daniel Chief Sousa, is it?” Thompson’s smile grew a bit more genuine, though not necessarily kinder. “You be sure to send me an invite, Marge. After all, you could say that I was the one who set you two up.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But, despite her words, Peggy couldn’t keep the warmth from her voice when she bade Thompson farewell a few minutes later.

A few days later, Peggy splurged on tickets to see _Three To Make Ready_ one more time, its final performance before it moved on to San Francisco. Daniel was unable to accompany her this time, so Howard agreed to escort her. Peggy enjoyed the show even more than she had the first time, and it seemed to her that Angie’s performance was sharper and more confident than it had been. Howard howled with laughter at the toilet tank skit, bought champagne during the intermission, and gave business cards with Stark Pictures’s telephone number on them to the ushers to distribute backstage.

After the show, Peggy waited for Angie at the stage door. Angie gave her a long hug. “This has been a wild trip, English,” Angie said. “How is it that you had to move to California before I learned the most important things about your life? But now you can write to me without censoring yourself so much!”

“Can I?” Peggy asked. “I mean, will you get the letters?”

“Oh, sure. The tour managers said they’d have our mail forwarded.”

Peggy laughed in relief. “Good. There may be . . . other things that I might need to write to you about.”

“Don’t you worry about that, English.” Angie smiled at her. “I took your federal agent out to lunch the other day, and we had a good long talk.”

“Angie . . .” Peggy could feel herself blushing, even in the dim light of the alley.

Angie clasped Peggy’s hands. “He’s a good fellow, English. I made sure of that. There ain’t a lot of fellows who’d be good enough for you, but he is.”

Peggy hadn’t expected Angie’s approval of Daniel to mean so much to her, but something swelled in her throat, and she hugged Angie again. “Thank you. I expect I’ll have lots to write to you about, even after your security vetting.”

“Looking forward to it,” Angie said. “But I gotta go now. We’re getting up early to get this show on the road. And you never know. I might be back in town before too long. Howard Stark said I could read for a part any time I want.”

“Good. You’ve earned it.” Peggy had no doubt that Howard would find a way to showcase Angie’s comedic talents on the silver screen. He could be brash and crass, but in the end, he knew how to treat his friends . . . most of the time.

Two weeks after the raid on the Arena Club, Daniel took a telephone call in his office and then called Peggy in. “I told you I’d let you know when we got to the bottom of that dossier,” he said, “and the senior guys finally tracked it all down.”

Peggy blinked in surprise. “Brilliant. What did they say about it?”

Daniel looked unexpectedly serious. “The first thing they said was that it was so classified that we can’t talk about it in the open. And, yes, my office counts as out in the open, so that should tell you something. But they also recognized the work that you did on this case and on the Isodyne case, and they wanted to acknowledge that.”

“This all sounds . . . mysterious.”

Daniel shrugged. “It is. I’m sorry, but this is the best I can do right now. I’ve cleared your schedule tomorrow. The brass want you to meet them at eleven at the Stark Pictures soundstage. Don’t bring anything with you. There’s something they want you to see.”

Peggy took a deep breath. “Do you trust them?”

Daniel nodded.

“All right. Then I’ll do it.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning.”

The next day, Daniel continued to be mysterious. He didn’t say much as they drove to the studio lot, but Peggy saw his brow furrowing, and noticed that he was chewing his lower lip, the way he did when something was eating him up inside. He glanced over at Peggy a few times, but kept quiet throughout the trip.

When they arrived at the soundstage, Daniel escorted Peggy downstairs, where she was pleased to see Colonel Chester Phillips and his deputies, Lieutenant Colonels Frank Ingalls and Walter Morgan. Phillips held out his hand, and Peggy shook it.

“Thank you for coming, Agent Carter. I apologize for the runaround, but we had to pull quite a few strings to arrange this.” Phillips indicated a door next to him. “That door leads into a soundproofed room. You’re going to go inside, and you don’t leave until Chief Sousa here escorts you out. Is that understood, Agent?”

“Yes, sir.”

Daniel took Peggy’s handbag, promising to keep it safe for her. Phillips opened the door, and Peggy went into the room. The walls were covered with thick fiber and hung with quilts. There was a table with two chairs, but no other furniture. Peggy sat down on one of the chairs and waited. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and for a moment, Peggy was afraid she would faint dead away.

Her brother Michael, who had been killed in action back in 1940, stood before her. Only he wasn’t dead. He was older, and his face had become gaunt, and there were streaks of gray at his temples that Peggy didn’t remember, but it was undeniably Michael, and he was undeniably alive. Peggy tried to call his name, but her voice stuck in her throat. She stumbled to her feet and reached for his hand to see if she could actually touch him. As soon as her hand touched his, he pulled her into a fierce hug and held on to her for a long time.

“Michael . . .” she managed.

Michael kissed her hair. “Oh, Peggy. Peggy. I love you. I’m so sorry, so very sorry.”

“You’re not dead. You came back.”

“I did.” Michael pulled away just enough so that he could look her in the eye. “Sometimes it happens. Not very often, but sometimes. And I have you to thank for this. If you hadn’t been so brave and clever and adventurous, I’d never have been able to tell you how very sorry I am for going and dying on you.”

Peggy gave a watery little laugh. “But you didn’t die.”

“No,” Michael said. “I didn’t. But you and Mummie and Daddy had to think that I did.” He gestured at the table, and they both sat down. Peggy scooted her chair as close to Michael’s as she could get it. She was a much different person now than she had been in 1940, and she knew exactly what Michael was trying to say.

“You were on a secret mission,” she said.

Michael nodded. “The SOE did a lot of dirty work in the war. I’m not proud of all of it, but we helped to win. I can’t tell you anything about my assignments; I understand that they’re classified until the last SOE operative dies. But I can tell you that, for the work that I was doing, it was best if I ceased to exist. So Michael Carter had to die, and his parents and loving sister had to be seen mourning him.”

Peggy shuddered, remembering how Daddy had arranged the memorial service, stone-faced and silent, while Mummie sat dazed on the sofa. “They said your body was unrecoverable. We put up a stone for you, in the churchyard. A cenotaph.”

“I know. I’ve seen it.” Michael gave a wry smile. “It’s quite an odd feeling to look at your own gravestone.”

If someone had told Peggy an hour earlier that she would be seeing Michael come back from the dead, she imagined that she would have slapped him across the face for lying and causing her and Mummie and Daddy so much grief. But now, in the moment, she couldn’t do anything but hold his hand in hers and forgive him. “The SOE is dissolved,” she said. “Will you be coming home to us now?”

Michael sighed and shook his head. “I can’t. Not for a long time, possibly not ever. The things I did in the war . . . I did what I had to do, but it made me too much of a liability. I couldn’t just be let go, to take some job in the City and lead a normal life.”

“The dossier,” Peggy said. “The one that Vernon Masters wanted to use against me. Agent M. Carter. Agent _Michael_ Carter, not Margaret.”

“Yes,” Michael replied. “Your Chief Sousa told me about how you tried to determine whether or not it was real. I assure you, it is real. You know why it can never be released to the public. It’s a good job that you prevented the Council of Nine from doing so. The consequences would have been . . . explosive, to say the least.”

“They already were. Jack Thompson was shot and paralyzed over that dossier.”

A shadow passed over Michael’s face. “Then you understand how serious the material inside it is. I’m sorry about what happened to your colleague. I’ve made arrangements with the SSR and the Joint Intelligence Committee, and Chief Thompson will be cared for. His medical expenses will be paid, and gainful employment will be found for him. His sacrifice will not go unrecognized.”

Peggy smiled to hear that, but then she recalled her brief glimpses of the unredacted portions of the dossier, and her smile vanished. “Michael . . . that dossier had evidence of war crimes in it.”

Michael was silent for a while. “I’m glad that you left SOE for the SSR when you did,” he said at last. “Some of what I was ordered to do . . . it helped to win the war, but it will never leave me. I’m told that there are official pardons for all of us, signed by Churchill and the King, locked away in a vault, should we ever need them.”

“What are you going to do now? If you can’t go home.”

“The SOE operatives who couldn’t be demobbed have been transferred to a new arm of government service,” Michael said. “I can’t tell you much more than that. I suspect that I shall be sent deep undercover, doing the dirty work for His Majesty’s government that can never be spoken of, but which will keep the Soviets and the Americans from destroying the world. I don’t know where I’m going, nor do I know how long I will be there. It’s entirely possible that I will actually die on the mission, in the service of King and Country, and that no one will be allowed to know.”

Peggy shivered. “Michael, please.”

Michael shook his head and put his free arm around Peggy’s shoulders. “I want you to know this,” he said. “In case it happens. In case I do die, anonymous, behind the Iron Curtain, I want one living person to know. And I want you to know that I love you dearly, and I will never stop loving you. No matter where I go, or what I have to do or become. I will always be your brother, and I will always love you.”

Peggy’s grasp on Michael’s hand tightened. “You’ve come to say goodbye, then.”

“I did,” Michael said. “My one regret about my war service is that I was unable to say goodbye then. And you’re the only one I can say goodbye to now.”

“Mummie and Daddy?”

Michael shook his head. “Only you. You cannot tell anyone. Once I leave this room, it will be as if I were never here. Nothing of this conversation can leave the room with either of us. I hope it won’t be forever, that I might be allowed home again some day. But if it is to be forever, then I am ever so grateful that I was allowed to see you once more and tell you how very proud I am of the woman you’ve become.”

Peggy couldn’t speak. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Michael. They held each other in silence for a few long minutes, and then Michael broke the embrace. “I have to go now,” he said. “Goodbye, my darling Peggy. I shall always love you.”

And he walked out of the room and closed the door. Peggy took a few deep, shuddery breaths, preparing herself to push the memory of this meeting down into the deepest recesses of her heart, only to be brought out when she was in the depths of despair.

After a few more minutes, the door opened again, and Daniel came into the room. Instead of letting her leave immediately, he closed the door behind him and perched on the edge of the table. “It all has to stay in this room,” he said softly. “We can stay here until you’re ready.”

Peggy nodded, and took a few more deep breaths. Suddenly, she reached up, flung her arms around Daniel, and kissed him deeply. Just as he shed his crutch to return the embrace, the dam broke, and Peggy burst into tears. Daniel hitched himself into a more secure position against the table. Once he was braced, his arms tightened around her, and he took some of her weight against his chest. Safe with Daniel in that soundproofed room, Peggy let go and sobbed. Daniel said nothing, but allowed her to cry on his shoulder until she had no more tears left. He did not break the embrace until Peggy’s breathing had quieted, and the hot flush had left her face completely.

“I – I think I’ve ruined your shirt,” Peggy said at last.

“It’s not important. I have others.” Daniel held her eyes with his own, searching her face for any lingering traces of distress.

Peggy breathed in and out, and took stock of her own feelings. Where Michael’s death had once left a lingering ache, there was only numbness now, and she knew that it would sweeten in time. And she could feel Daniel’s warmth all through her. She wasn’t quite ready to say the words that would make it real, but she could feel the smile playing on her lips, and she could see a similar look on Daniel’s face. So, rather than spoil things with premature words, she put her arms around him and kissed him again.

_25 August, 1947_

_Los Angeles, California_

_Dear Mummie and Daddy,_

_I will be thrilled to see you when you finally manage to visit. Do let me know when you have the money, and I will make arrangements._

_These weeks in Los Angeles have been an odd little slice of heaven. Things have not always gone according to plan, and I suspect that there is more upheaval ahead for me. However, I feel certain that something new and good and whole will emerge in its own time. I shall return to New York in a fortnight, but things have changed._

_When you do manage to visit, I hope to introduce you to a very special friend, Mr Daniel Sousa. While we met in New York, it is only since I have come to Los Angeles that we have grown close. I had thought that this path was closed to me after I ended my engagement to Fred, and again after Steve’s death. But somehow, though I never quite noticed how, Daniel has opened that possibility again, and the simple thought of him warms me thoroughly. I hope that you will like him almost as much as I do._

_Love,_

_Peggy_

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story! For the record, I do think that Peggy and Daniel will end up married, but they’re not quite there yet. I suspect that Daniel’s family will be impressed and possibly a bit overwhelmed by Peggy; her family might not immediately take to him, but he can turn on the charm like nobody’s business.
> 
> As for Dottie, I think that the Red Room program is going to get a Very Serious Overhaul, possibly during the period of collective leadership after Stalin dies in 1953. But that, as they say, is another story for another time.


End file.
